In the Interest of Peace
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #37 An 8 chapter novelette full of drama and adventure. The Donaris have been known to experiment on their captives, and Spock discovers it for himself when he joins his daughter T'Beth in a covert mission that goes sour.
1. Secrets

**1) Secrets**

Patches of mist clung to the hills of San Francisco, lending a surreal beauty to the old city as Spock flew his family homeward through the night. Above them the sky was clear. As Spock worked the skimmer's controls, his eyes rose to the few stars bright enough to penetrate Earth's atmosphere and outshine the Bay Area lights.

Lauren moved in the seat beside him. Her advancing pregnancy made her uncomfortable, and she tired easily. Lately there had been an added burden of worry that made her toss restlessly in their bed at night.

"Hmm," she said in a drowsy voice. "Did you say something?"

"No." Spock gave his wife a glance. She must have been dreaming. "I was taking note of the stars—pondering how great a hold they have always had over me. When I was a boy, I used to go into the L-langa Mountains to be alone under the night sky."

"I thought you did that to get away from Solkar," she said, referring to the great-grandfather whose brutal idea of discipline had made Spock's childhood miserable.

"Yes," he conceded, "as I grew older I sometimes disappeared into the hills for days in order to avoid him when he was in town."

"Your parents must have been worried sick about you."

Spock nodded. "They could not understand my disobedience, and I did not enlighten them. Each time I returned, Father would see to it that I was punished; yet I would always run away again. He did not know that Solkar found reason to beat me no matter how well I behaved."

In the back seat, six-year-old Simon let out a moan in his slumber. They had spent New Year's Day visiting Lauren's mother in Manhattan, and they were late getting home. When they reached the house, Spock unbuckled his son and guided him up to bed. The boy went back to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Spock lingered for a moment. As he gazed down at Simon's placid face, a strange unsettled feeling crept over him. Shortly before Christmas, Lauren had experienced a premonition of doom that left her deeply disturbed, but Spock had refused to be influenced by it. It was not logical to expend energy worrying about some nameless future possibility. But now the worry had a name that was deadly enough to challenge even a Vulcan's objectivity. Leaning down, he touched Simon's dark, curly hair protectively.

oooo

The following day Spock received a summons from Admiral Cartwright's office. He had rarely set foot in that part of Headquarters since the remarkable occasion, six years earlier, when he was abruptly appointed Commandant of Starfleet Academy.

An aide ushered him into the admiral's conference room, where the long polished table was almost filled to capacity. White-haired Admiral Nogura occupied the seat of honor. To Nogura's left sat Admiral Cartwright, and on his right Admiral Harry Morrow. Solemn-faced senior officers from Starfleet's branches of Intelligence and Diplomacy took up the remainder of the table.

Spock's gaze traveled to the farthest end where, incredibly, he found his daughter T'Beth seated. He stared openly at her uniform. _Starfleet? A junior grade lieutenant?_ How could it be? He had thought she was no longer even a member of the Border Patrol.

A very human stirring of pain slipped Spock's control and his eyes accused her. _So, young lady, it would seem that you have not yet outgrown your fondness for deception._

T'Beth's gaze left his and shifted to the briefing terminal mounted in front of her.

Spock turned away.

"Captain," Admiral Cartwright said in greeting, "thank you for coming. Please sit down."

Spock took the only open seat, beside his daughter. All eyes turned toward him.

Admiral Nogura spoke. "Captain, everything you'll hear at this meeting is strictly classified." He paused. "You are, of course, aware of Lieutenant Lemoine's sojourn among the Donari after her fighter crashed on that planet four years ago?"

Acutely aware of T'Beth's presence, Spock replied, "Yes, Admiral."

"At that time it became immediately apparent that the knowledge she had acquired on Donari could be of great value in forwarding the cause of peace in that region. Since her return, she has secretly maintained close ties to Starfleet, undergoing years of specialized training for the upcoming mission."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "Mission?"

Admiral Morrow took over. "Our intelligence reports indicate that the underground peace movement on Donari has reached the point where a shift of political power might be feasible. Given the right impetus…the proper guidance…"

"Which the lieutenant will somehow supply?" Spock surmised.

"Hands on, ground zero," revealed the admiral with a casualness that Spock found unnerving. Did Morrow actually expect T'Beth to return to Donari? Did he expect Spock to give her up for dead a second time? And what of the Prime Directive?"

Spock attempted to view the situation with some detachment. Sydok belonged to the Federation, but Donari did not. The fact that the two worlds were at war might be seen as ample justification to meddle in Donari politics, at least to the extent of fostering any peace movement there. A shift of power could put an end to centuries of bloodshed and atrocities.

"The lieutenant is very young," Spock pointed out, "and no amount of training can compensate for her lack of experience or her Sy blood—the blood of Donari's sworn enemies. Have you considered what would become of her if your plan goes awry?

Admiral Cartwright spoke up. "Absolutely. Please, Captain, let me answer your concerns. While it's true that the lieutenant is very young—" Smiling, he interjected, "I wish I were that young again. Nevertheless she is far from inexperienced in Donari matters, which in this instance are the only matters that count. There is no one currently available to Starfleet who knows as much about the situation. As for her Sy blood—well, you'll soon learn how advantageous that can be. But by far her greatest asset is her personal friendship with leaders in the Donari underground. They know her and they trust her."

"Then," Spock assumed, "she would be returning to the same underground cell that cared for her after the crash."

"Correct," Nogura replied. "As it is my wish that you accompany her, I've invited key officers here to outline the mission for you."

The prospect of personal involvement gave Spock an entirely different perspective. _Of course_. _He would not be here, otherwise_. Listening, Spock learned how over the past four years Donari's religious and philosophical peace movement had quietly spread from the underground into the political hierarchy, and supporters now covertly occupied several important positions. During the proposed mission, Spock and T'Beth would act as Special Envoys, advising the People as they toppled Donari's most bloodthirsty Overlord and his repressive government. It was a perilous role in a dangerous juncture of Donari's ignominious history.

"How," Spock asked, "is the actual shift of political power to be accomplished?"

"In as bloodless a manner as possible," Cartwright responded. "We've already reviewed their strategy in preparation for the final thrust. Your unique background makes you particularly well-suited to counsel the Donaris on the scene and offer them whatever assistance they might need as the revolution unfolds."

Spock studied the admiral's face. The words "bloodless" and "Donari" seemed totally incongruous. Nothing said thus far had convinced him that the mission was anything more than a fool's errand, a death trap.

"Your presence there has been requested by name," Morrow said, "which is rather ironic, since you're the one we had in mind for this mission from its very inception. Apparently your daughter spoke highly of you to the cell leader she calls the Companion."

Spock's eyebrow climbed again. _T'Beth praise him?_ In the days before her healing, she would have cursed him soundly. "You mention my background. It is widely known that Donaris breed captives to produce slaves of mixed blood. I assume that both my genetic makeup and that of the lieutenant have been carefully considered."

Admiral Morrow cleared his throat. Folding his hands on the table, he looked down at them. "That is, to a large extent, what Admiral Cartwright meant by your 'unique background'." His dark eyes rose. "According to our information, mixed blood would be a distinct advantage were you to be captured. No one would call you spies. The traditional Donari mindset would scarcely comprehend your being anything other than slaves of the lowest order."

An awkward silence descended over the conference room. Then Nogura spoke. "Captain, I'm not ordering you on this mission, but after you weigh all the facts, I think you will agree to go."

He handed the briefing over to the panel of experts, who gave satisfactory answers to many of Spock's concerns. When the meeting broke up, T'Beth remained behind. Spock closed the door and turned to his daughter.

T'Beth's eyes begged him to understand. "I swear before God, if there'd been any other way—" She broke off, close to tears. "Are you angry?"

As a Starfleet officer Spock understood the importance of following security measures, yet as a father he could wish that T'Beth had confided in him. He had often wondered what she was doing since her graduation from the University of Beijing. Her money always seemed to come from nameless "jobs" that kept her busy for months on end. At times his newfound trust in her had been sorely tested, yet somehow he had never allowed himself to stop trusting. Now he was glad of that.

Finally he said, "This is _the_ mission, is it not? The one to which you have felt called since your healing."

Her face lit with joy and she came over to him. "Oh yes, Father! I've _wanted_ to tell you—every single day, I've wanted to!"

Spock touched the scar at her temple left by the devastating crash of her fighter on Donari. For a time, he had believed the report of her death and mourned her. He did not want to risk losing her again, but he could see that her mind was set on going. And that meant he would have to go with her. Lowering his hand, he sat down in a chair and stared at the room's lights reflecting on the polished surface of the table. T'Beth walked up behind him. Her hand settled over his shoulder, and he could feel the tangle of her emotions lapping at his mental barriers.

 _"Please_ tell me you're not angry," she begged.

There was time when he would have denied being capable of such an emotion, but both he and T'Beth knew better. With a sigh he said, "I am quite pleased to discover all that you have accomplished."

"Then…" Her hand tightened on him. "Then you don't want to go with me, is that it?"

No, that was not 'it'. Now that Spock had been more fully briefed, he found the Donari mission quite intriguing, but another thought lay heavy on his mind. He said, "There are…personal complications. The twins will be born in less than four months."

He would not have mentioned such a thing to anyone but T'Beth. An officer did not whine over inconveniences. Given a choice between duty and family considerations, he should have experienced no hesitation.

T'Beth sat down beside him. "I know. The timing's bad, but if everything goes according to plan, you could be back by then."

Spock knew from experience that life seldom went according to plan. Only last week Lauren's obstetrician had detected a problem involving the male twin. This morning there was fear in her eyes as she anticipated more medical testing, and Spock had done his best to reassure her. After all, statistics were overwhelming on their side. The test results would almost certainly be favorable.

T'Beth's voice broke into his thoughts. "Father, think of all the misery that can be ended, all the lives that can be spared. Think of what this could have meant to my mother's family."

"I shall," he promised. Rising, he warmly added, "But T'Beth-kam, if not for those Donari atrocities, your mother would never have been born…nor would you."

Taking leave of her, he headed for the nearest turbolift.

oooo

Lauren left her obstetrician's office and despite the expense, beamed straight out to the beach house. She needed to be near the restless, reassuring ocean that had always been so much a part of her life. The transporter released her to a bitter January wind. The day was clear but raw, the waves slamming thunderously against the shore. Salty mist mingled with her tears and she began to shiver.

Passing through the gate, she went indoors, where it was scarcely any warmer. Kindling and split wood lay ready in the fireplace, and the touch of a lighter sent flames licking upward. Taking the afghan from the couch, she wrapped herself up and huddled on the wide hearthstone. The fire's heat began to radiate. Closing her eyes, she let the tears spill freely down her face.

 _How was she going to tell Spock?_ She felt the babies move within her, nudging at one another, competing for room. The humanlike Teresa—or T'Resa, as Spock thought of her—so healthy and vigorous. And her brother, James. Spock had surprised Lauren when he suggested that first name. James Skon, after his friend Kirk and the kindly Vulcan grandfather whose memory Spock cherished. But James would never be as strong as his father or his namesakes. His days would be filled with pain until puberty neared and his body gave up its weary struggle for life.

Aching with grief, Lauren buried her face in the afghan. Time passed, measured only by the heavy beating of her heart.

An icy draft of wind drew her attention, and she lifted her head. Spock entered the house and shut the door behind him. Their eyes met.

She was not surprised to see him. Their marriage was a bonding in the truest Vulcan sense; Spock usually seemed to know when she was in pain, and just where to find her. Bundled against the cold, he came over to the fire and held out his hands to its glow. For a long moment he just warmed himself.

"I assume," he said at last, "that the test results were not favorable."

Lauren managed a nod. Over the course of the past month, James' development had begun lagging behind that of his sister. A natural oddity, she had hoped—after all, Vulcans gestated their babies a bit longer than humans, and genetically James was far more Vulcan than his womb-mate. She had never let herself speak the dreaded words that would mean a slow death sentence for their unborn son. But now she could no longer pretend.

"Tell me," Spock said.

Her heart began to race wildly. Spock listened, still as stone, as she forced herself to speak. "His…his internal organs aren't…functioning properly. The doctor is running more tests. She says not to lose hope yet, but…but she thinks it's…Vash-Lester. And so do I."

Fire flashed in his dark eyes. "You cannot possibly know that until the results are in."

Lauren hunched over and came close to tears again. "Spock, I _do_ know. I can feel him. I can feel him getting sicker and sicker."

Spock abruptly reached down and pulled her to her feet. "You cannot base a medical judgment on feelings! You are a doctor!"

Astonished, Lauren stared at him. Spock was normally so disciplined that she had assumed he could handle any crisis calmly. "You're _scared,"_ she realized, "just as scared as I am. Fear can make a person angry, I know. So angry that you want to destroy whatever it is that's frightening you. Only this isn't something we can get out hands on."

He released her and struggled to control the emotions that she read so easily. "I…am sorry," he said, already calmer. "But if even your doctor is not yet certain..."

It had been a long while since she had felt a need to comfort him. Putting her arms around her husband, she said, "Maybe you're right. I hope to God you are…"

Spock embraced her tightly.

oooo

It was late when T'Beth returned to her father's house. Its warmth enveloped her as she stepped in from the cold and headed through the darkened living room, toward the stairs. Light shone from Lauren's laboratory.

 _Odd._ These days Lauren usually retired early.

T'Beth hesitated before walking to the doorway. She found her father at Lauren's biocomp, his eyes intent on the screen. From her position, she could see that the computer was linked into the library at Starfleet Medical Center.

"Father?" she said softly.

Her voice roused him and he swiveled the chair around. He appeared tired. She so rarely saw him looking less than fit, and now it created a stirring of guilt. She had wanted him to be as excited about the upcoming mission as her, but after five days it was becoming obvious that this would not be an easy decision for him.

Even so, T'Beth entered the room with a hopeful face. "Well, now you've had some time to think about it. Do you have anything to tell me?"

Father joined his hands in his lap and gazed down at them. "I have been thinking of your maternal grandmother, Justrelle."

The name flooded T'Beth's heart with sweet, painful memories of the woman who cared for her until she was eleven. T'Beth was known only as Cristabeth when her dying "Mama" turned her over to a stranger named Spock aboard the Enterprise. Not a very pleasant way to meet one's father for the first time.

"I think of her often," T'Beth said wistfully. "She may have hated you, but she was good to me."

Spock nodded. "She was widowed by Donari warriors. Captured, enslaved, and callously used." His eyes rose to meet hers. "The hatred you mentioned was a direct result and served to twist our own relationship for years. I have been wondering how many others are out there, just like her, just like us—or worse. Wounded victims of breeding experiments, of coldhearted mental alterations, of out-and-out savagery. Men, women, and even small children. I have seen firsthand what the Donaris do to innocent lives, and now there is finally an opportunity to turn the course of Donari and Sydok history in a new peaceable direction."

T'Beth held her breath. This was the most she had heard her father say since the meeting at Headquarters.

"Surely," he added, "it is a mission worthy of Surak himself."

"Then…you'll go?"

There was a faint sound of swishing fabric. T'Beth and her father turned as one to find Lauren standing in the doorway.

Dressed in a robe, Lauren crossed her arms and frowned at them. "Go where? What mission? What are you two talking about?"

T'Beth felt sick at heart. After all the years of secrecy, how could she have been so reckless? She should have shut the door when she came in. Better yet, she should have shut her mouth. Slowly turning to her father, she met his eyes.

"I am as much to blame," he told her. "It is alright. Leave us."

T'Beth brushed past her stepmother and heard the door close behind her. For a moment she lingered in the dark hallway, marveling at their carelessness. It was so easy to let down one's guard at home. Now there was nothing for her to do but go upstairs.

oooo

It was what Jim Kirk might call "a tight spot". Inwardly bracing, Spock watched his wife approach.

"Okay," Lauren said with an uneasy smile, "something's been going on for days now. It's time you tell me what this is all about."

Spock glanced at the computer screen. The data on display referred to Vash-Lester, which Lauren's obstetrician and a consulting geneticist had now positively diagnosed. Though he was well aware of its every symptom and dire prognosis, he had been reviewing the material anyway, searching for some obscure fact with which to combat his discouragement. He had not found one. If he were a full-blooded Vulcan, the process of emotional detachment from his unborn son would already have begun—a logical, efficient procedure. But he was human as well, and found himself unwilling to brush aside his son so casually.

For Lauren the pain was even more intense. All Spock's spousal instincts warned him against leaving her when she was so vulnerable, but as an officer he had always answered Starfleet's call.

"Well?" Lauren asked in a deceptively playful manner.

Spock knew the tone and all its implications. Swiveling his chair, he looked up at his very pregnant wife. Her presence never failed to move him—even now, with her golden hair mussed from her pillow—even now he warmed at her nearness and felt privileged to call Doctor Fielding his bondmate. He wanted to share everything with her, but now he could not. Now there was something that he must hide.

Steeling himself he said, "I…have been selected to take part in a mission of peace."

"Worthy of Surak himself. Yes, I heard that much. But where? And when?"

"Soon," Spock replied. "That is all that I know in regard to the mission's timing. I am not at liberty to discuss anything beyond that."

Lauren's face registered shock. "Anything with me—but you _were_ just discussing it with T'Beth, who's not even a member of Starfleet."

He turned to the computer screen and said nothing.

"Unless," she went on with the inborn persistence of a research scientist, "…unless, of course, she's somehow involved anyway. But I'd find that awfully hard to believe…unless…" Spock glanced over and saw the dangerous light of inspiration dawning in her blue eyes. "Unless this has to do with _Donari."_

She searched his impassive face for some hint of verification and acted as if he had openly confirmed her statement. Her cheeks flushed from the intensity of her emotion. "That's it—isn't it? You're going off to Donari to get yourself killed!" A spasm of pain caught her and she bent over, clutching the right side of her abdomen.

Spock swiftly rose and settled her into the chair. Holding her by the shoulders, he said, "Please do not upset yourself. I can neither confirm nor deny your assumption, but you know that I fully evaluate every mission in which I am involved."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Tell them no. It's too dangerous. You have a responsibility to me, to our children."

Spock let go of her and straightened. He was well aware of his responsibility to his family, but was not T'Beth also his child? Did he not have a responsibility to her, as well as to Starfleet and to the interest of peace everywhere?"

"You're bored," Lauren said unexpectedly, "aren't you? That's what this is all about. It's been seven years since you left the Enterprise, and you're getting bored stiff heading the academy."

The words cut deep. Spock had sacrificed his position aboard the Enterprise in order to provide a stable home for his family. Did Lauren actually think he would jeopardize that home for some selfish, ulterior motive? Biting back an argumentative retort, he left the laboratory and strode out into the bitter cold of the backyard. The sky was clear, but the stars gave forth a puny light compared to their brilliance as seen in Space.

Why had he reacted so strongly to her accusation? Could it be that Lauren's charge held some merit, after all? Was it only boredom that made the Donari mission seem so appealing?

In at least one regard, Lauren was correct. The mission _would_ be dangerous. But was that not all the more reason for him to accept it? If he declined the assignment, T'Beth would go with someone else—someone who might not be as well equipped to assist her, or the Donaris.

When the cold drove him indoors, he found Lauren seated in the shadows of the living room, waiting for him. She rose from the sofa.

"I've been thinking," she said quickly, anxiously. "If you're tired of the academy, there must be other things you can do."

Spock shook his head and told her, "That is not the issue."

"But I need you here," she said softly. "Don't you understand? Any time but now…"

"I know," he said with regret. "However, there is a chance that I could return before the twins are born."

"A chance." Anger crept into her voice. "Maybe it's not only a case of boredom, after all. Maybe life here has gotten too painful for you to handle. Is that it? Is this really about James?'

 _"No,"_ Spock said emphatically.

Lauren moved very close to him, her face taut. "Spock, don't do this to us…"

He barely held in his annoyance. "Lauren," he said, in as gentle a tone as he could master, "at the beach house you spoke to me of fear, yet here you are, allowing your own fears to control you. Would you have it control me, as well?"

Her eyes flashed. "What? Control you? I wouldn't think that could be possible!"

With those stinging words she brushed him aside and went upstairs.

oooo

Spock sat with T'Beth at Headquarters as she detailed their contingency plan, using the strange Donari tongue. Against Vulcan familial custom, they had engaged in a series of teaching melds through which he had absorbed considerable knowledge of the planet's primary language. Although he could not reproduce the clicking sounds as well as his daughter, he had no difficulty understanding hers.

T'Beth was saying, "Your father is Saban, a Vulcan merchant of better than average means. Your mother is a human named Rachel Weiss. Before entering the Border Patrol at eighteen, you assisted your parents in their import business, which has outlets on both Earth and Vulcan. You are an only child and your name is Yosef ben Saban."

Curious, Spock said, "This father of mine. I suspect he was not pleased when I voiced my desire to join the Patrol."

T'Beth cocked a semi-Vulcanoid eyebrow and smiled innocently. "There was an ugly confrontation. He actually _shoved_ you against the living room wall."

"I see," he said, forming the Donari clicks with care. "You must have reached deep into your imagination for that."

She went on. "In the unlikely event of capture, we are to remain wherever we are taken unless our lives are in immediate danger. Donari agents of the underground are everywhere. They will locate us and formulate a rescue.

"We are slaves, taken from the wreckage of our downed fighter, kept by the People to perform menial tasks. We need fear no sexual overtures from the Donaris, since they look upon other races—and slaves in particular—as a subspecies. Slave breeding is carried out only between carefully selected captives with pure bloodlines. Due to our mixed heritage, we will be considered unfit to propagate.

"Never show any sign of illness or other physical infirmity. Defective slaves are eliminated. Sick slaves are sometimes taken for…vivisection.

"Always stand straight and look your master in the eye. Any other pose is considered evasive and disrespectful. If you make no sound when you are struck, you will be struck again. If you persist in suffering silently, you will be beaten to death. The Donaris want the satisfaction of knowing that their blows hurt." Grim-faced, T'Beth paused and slipped back into her native Standard. "Father, I know it goes against your idea of Vulcan dignity…"

"Yes," Spock replied in the same language, "it does. But you will, of course, assure me that these contingency plans are superfluous, for nothing can possibly go wrong."

She firmly nodded. "That's right—everything's going to be fine. This mission _will_ succeed. I know it. I _feel_ it!"

Spock sat back in his chair. He found it interesting that T'Beth and Lauren could feel so certain of diametrically opposed outcomes. Since the evening of the quarrel he had seen little of his wife, but it was clear that her anger had not eased. Sometime during the past week he had ceased consulting his own or anyone else's feelings in this matter. For now, he was attempting to operate on logic alone.

"Continue," he said.

"Alright. I am your daughter Ja-rel. I was born of your liaison with a Sy-human slave liberated by the Federation…"

oooo

The auditorium was filling fast. With a sigh Lauren lowered herself into an aisle seat to await her son's performance, but her mind was on the other son nestled, helpless and sick, beneath her heart. Today yet another medical test had returned positive. Half a dozen specialists—and every one of them in agreement. Each time she received the news alone, enduring the solitary pain as best she could.

After the first three appointments, she had not even bothered to tell Spock. What was the use? Did he even care about James anymore? About any of them? Most nights he never even came to bed. If he did, he rose before she was awake and disappeared in his skimmer. Not to the academy. Out of curiosity she had called his office there, only to be told that his assistant was in charge until further notice. Wherever Spock went, he never bothered to inform her. He had not even bothered to let Simon know if he would attend tonight's performance. Maybe he had already taken off on his mysterious assignment without so much as a goodbye.

Curtain time drew near and the school auditorium filled to near capacity. The orchestra was tuning up when Spock and T'Beth appeared in the aisle beside Lauren, triggering a flood of relief and anger.

"It's my fault he's late,' T'Beth told her contritely.

Spock met Lauren's eyes and kept silent. She could not believe that he was standing there letting his daughter make excuses for him. The seats beside her were taken, which was just as well in her present mood. Spock and T'Beth disappeared into the back of the auditorium until the performance was over. After the last of the applause died down, they returned to Lauren's side. Leaving the stage, Simon spotted his father and came bounding down the aisle carrying his violin case.

"I was detained," Spock told the boy, "but even so I arrived before the curtain rose. I did not miss a single note of 'Peter and the Wolf'."

Simon's smile was so full of love that Lauren thought her heart would break. The feeling lingered as Spock turned and gazed down at her.

"Lauren," he said just loudly enough to be heard above the hubbub of the departing audience, "I would like you to come with me. T'Beth can take Simon home in your car."

It was a moment before she nodded. They did not speak again until the skimmer was in the air. Lauren tensed as Spock left the city and headed due south.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Keeping his eyes on the flight path, he replied, "To the beach house."

"No, I'm too tired. And I'm hungry. Just take me home."

"We will spend the night there," Spock said, staying the course.

All the anger she had bottled up inside her suddenly spilled out. "You think you can just show up when you feel like it and do whatever you please? I've hardly set eyes on you for two weeks. You've been so wrapped up in all the intrigue at Headquarters, you seem to have forgotten you have a family."

His hands tightened on the controls. "I have not forgotten."

Lauren turned and stared out at the night until her tears made the stars run together. It was a long, long time before she spoke. "I was in New York today. Do you know why?"

"I don't," he replied.

"Six doctors, Spock. _Six!_ And they all say the same thing." She could not bring herself to speak the diagnosis that would mean a death sentence for their unborn son. "When I was in medical training, I visited the Vulcan hospital at Peli'dar. There was a boy under treatment, part Vulcan and part Gamman, about eight years old. I keep seeing his little face…so pathetically thin…so pale that his skin almost looked transparent. And his lips—his lips were yellow from organ failure." She tried to swallow the aching in her throat. "I still remember his name. It seemed so odd, this little Vulcan boy called Starfire."

"No more odd," Spock said quietly, than a Vulcan boy named James."

Lauren covered her face and began to sob. "Our baby's going to die, and now I feel like I'm losing you, too. Our baby's going to die and I can't stand it…"

Spock's voice held a maddening hint of impatience. "Lauren, you are not going to lose me. Please try and compose yourself."

Raising her head, she lashed out at him. "I don't believe this! You've shoved your emotions so deep that you really _don't_ give a damn anymore! I swear to God, if I'd know you were going to run out on me, I'd have never come back to you!"

The skimmer slowed suddenly and jolted into the sand. Lauren fell silent. The wooden fence surrounding the beach house glowed white under a full moon. Spock turned off the engine, and she heard the crashing of the surf.

"I am not 'running out on you'," he said tersely.

Lauren met the anger in his eyes. "Then you've turned down the mission? Is that what you're saying?"

Abruptly he left the cockpit. Walking around to her side, he jerked the door open. An icy wind sucked all the heat from the skimmer. "Come in the house," he said. When she did not move, he added, "Please," with just enough insincerity to negate it.

She had no intention of getting out with him. "Take me home. Take me home now."

He did not budge.

"Fine," she snapped, "then stay here by yourself."

Seething, she attempted an awkward shift to the driver's seat. Spock's hands clamped onto her, and she found herself firmly extracted from the skimmer. Ignoring her struggles, he lifted her easily into his arms and carried her to the porch. There he set her on her feet.

Lauren's fists clenched. Her fury broke free and she swung hard at his impassive Vulcan face. She did not intend to slap him. She meant to hurt him, bone deep, so he would feel in his own body just a fraction of the pain he was putting her through.

In the shadows his arm blurred and there was a loud smack as his hand deflected the blow meant for his cheekbone. Glowering, Lauren drew back and rubbed her smarting knuckles. It had to have hurt him, too, but of course he gave no sign of it.

She felt like killing the bastard.

Reaching past her, Spock unlocked the front door and propelled her over the threshold. A surprising warmth engulfed her and she smelled food. As he turned on the lights, she realized that he had planned this little rendezvous well in advance. He must have come over before the concert to prepare things. And he had planned every bit of it without once stopping to consult her.

Now he strategically placed himself between her and the front door. "We are going to talk," he declared in a tone she had heard him use when disciplining Simon.

"You really don't want to hear what I'm thinking," she countered. "It would fry those lovely ears of yours."

His face went hard as Vulcan granite. "That is not the sort of communication I had in mind…but it is a beginning."

"I might know what you have in mind," she shot back, "if you'd come home once in a while and tell me. Did you ever think of that?"

The muscles along his jaw began to work. "Lauren," he said in a brittle voice, "I share your grief about James. You know that."

"Yes," she said. "I can tell by all the support you've been giving me these past weeks. I've been so touched by your show of concern."

His eyes flashed. "Must you resort to sarcasm?"

"Why not? At least _that's_ something I can depend on."

The argument palpably heated.

Spock said, "Are you insinuating that I am undependable?"

Lauren put her hands on her hips. "What would you call a husband who would deliberately abandon his wife at a time like this? I know you've made up your mind to leave, haven't you? Not that it really makes much difference at this point. I feel like you've already left."

He drew himself up in a way that she assumed was meant to impress her. "I am a Starfleet officer—"

"Don't tell me that!" she shouted. "God damn you, just go ahead and say it! You're leaving!"

His lips pressed together in a thin line. "Lauren, my presence here will not help James."

She thumped her hand against her chest. "It would help _me._ Don't you see that? Can't you understand?" Weary and frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Never mind—you might as well just go. It's no good having you here if you don't want to be with me. Just go and do whatever the hell you please."

She felt his eyes on her as she went over to the hearth. Hugging herself, she stared down at the last dying flames.

At last he said, "You, too, are an officer…"

She swung around and faced him. "I'm a _doctor!_ That's all my rank means to me. All that polish and discipline is just something most doctors tolerate so they can practice the quality of medicine Starfleet is famous for. If you don't believe me, ask McCoy."

Spock looked into her eyes. Very quietly he said, "You make much of the fact that you are a physician. Then surely you care about saving lives."

Lauren sank down on the hearth and sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell me that this mission of yours will do just that."

"If all goes well."

"Ah-hah, exactly!" She wagged her finger at him. "If all goes well. And if it doesn't?"

"Then there is a contingency plan."

Leaning forward, she urged, "Then tell me about it. Tell me something—anything that will take away this miserable certainty that you're going to your death."

His eyes flickered with something very much like regret. "I am under orders. But perhaps, when it is all over…"

"When it's over," Lauren said in a shaky voice, "your children will have no father. I'll be left to explain how you had this thing about being a dead hero. I'll show pictures of you to Teresa and tell stories about how brave you were, when you were really just stubborn and selfish. And as for James—" Her throat squeezed with unshed tears and she could go no further.

Spock moved toward her, his hand outstretched. Abruptly she rose and evaded his touch.

"Lauren," he said gently. "Aisha…"

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Spock grasped her by the forearms and turned her to face him. "Listen to me. I agree, the timing of this mission is most unfortunate, but there is nothing I can do about it."

"Oh, don't hand me that—there's plenty you could do about it. But you won't, will you?"

He was silent for a long moment. Then, clearly struggling for emotional control, he told her, "I am leaving early tomorrow."

The words sank into Lauren's heart like knives. She was about to wrench free when Spock drew her closer.

"Come here," he said thickly, and his arms went around her and held tight.

It was such an unmistakable act of love that she could not help but return the embrace. Wasn't this where they had first broken through the barriers keeping them apart? Here in this room on a wintry day not unlike this one? No mingling of minds this time. The physicality was purely human and perhaps for that reason it touched Lauren in a way no meld could. He loved her. He _needed_ her. And when tomorrow's parting came, she would find the strength to let him go and pray for his safe return.

oooo

Just before dawn, Spock entered his son's room and turned on the bedside lamp. Simon stirred. Flushed with sleep, the boy blinked and squinted up at him.

"Father…"

Spock sat down on the bed. Simon's eyes were wide open now, showing the same brilliant shade of blue as his mother's. His dark, level eyebrows puckered together with worry.

"Is Mom alright?"

"She is fine," Spock answered.

The frown deepened. "Did I do something wrong?"

Spock's mouth curved into a slight smile. "No, Simon. I only want to talk to you."

"Oh." Simon let loose a sigh. Eyelids drooping, he curled up comfortably on his side. "Where have you been? I hardly see you anymore."

"I know." Spock touched his son's warm, wavy hair. "There have been a great many demands on my time, and now I have to go away on a trip."

Simon's eyes popped open and he bolted upright. "What?"

"I am leaving now to board the Enterprise. It may be months before I can return."

"Months!" cried Simon. "But…but the babies!"

Spock looked at his son with surprise. Was Simon actually concerned about the welfare of the unborn twins? Until now the boy had viewed Teresa and James as potential rivals for his parents' attention. It was, Spock understood, a common reaction of older siblings.

Fear shone from Simon's eyes. "What if they come? What if they pop out when you're not here? What am I supposed to do?"

Spock raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You may set your mind at ease. Infants do not just 'pop out' suddenly; they give ample warning that they are on the way. Your mother will know what to do, and when the time nears, your Grandmother Elizabeth will come here and stay with you."

Simon scooted over and hugged Spock tightly. "But I want _you_ here. Why do you have to go?"

Spock considered his answer carefully. He settled on a concept he had used before. "Sometimes, Simon, the good of the many outweighs the good of the few. And on a world far from here, there are a good many people in need of my assistance."

Simon's arms squeezed harder. "I don't care. You're my father and I want you here."

"One cannot always have what one desires," Spock told him. He gently tipped Simon's chin and looked into his disgruntled face. "You have an assignment, too. It is important that you be on your best behavior while I am gone. Try and help your mother any way you can."

Simon frowned. "Because of the babies, right?"

"No," Spock said. "Because she is your mother and I expect it of you."

Simon pulled away and glared at the floor.

"You may not realize it now," Spock said, "but you are very fortunate to be having a younger brother and sister. I never did, and neither did your mother."

"Then I guess you'll love them a whole lot," Simon muttered.

Spock studied his son's scowling face. "Tell me something. Do you think I care more for T'Beth than I care for you?"

"That's different," Simon said without looking at him. "She's all grown up."

"And that does not answer my question. The truth, now. Do you honestly believe that you are less important to me than T'Beth?"

Simon hesitated. "I don't know."

"Of course you know," Spock pressed.

Simon huffed and flung himself to the other side of the bed. "No, I don't," he insisted, "and I don't want to talk about it, either."

Looking at the boy's rigid back, Spock thought over the conversation, trying to determine where and how it had gone wrong. Simon was as emotional as his mother. "You are only angry," he concluded, "because I am leaving."

Simon turned toward him, tears shining in his eyes. "The Statler competition is next month. You always come when I play."

It was true. Since Simon first took up the violin at age three, Spock had never missed any of his performances. He had not realized how much his son depended on him being there. The solution seemed simple. "Ask your mother to record it for me."

Simon stared at the bedspread. "It's not the same."

"I agree," Spock said, "and I regret that I can't be there for you, but you will be surprised at how quickly the time passes."

"You're going to miss my birthday, too. Aren't you?"

"Perhaps," Spock admitted. And he found himself saying, "In any case, I shall bring back a gift from Space—a very special gift." He had no idea what it might be.

Simon's face brightened considerably. "You will?"

"Yes," Spock promised, "I shall."


	2. Donari's Doorstep

**2) Donari's Doorstep**

The Enterprise hung at station-keeping in Earth orbit as Kirk entered the main transporter room. No chance for shore leave this time—not even a day to slip off to Spock's house and toss a baseball with that son of his. Every time he saw Simon, the boy seemed to have shot up another inch or two. He was going to be as tall as his father and just as bright in his own way.

It had occurred to Kirk more than once that his attachment to Spock's boy had something to do with the loss of his own son, David, whom he had never even seen as a child. His relationship with Spock's grown daughter had always been much more complicated. He kept reminding himself that his inappropriate feelings for T'Beth had all been her doing, and things were different now.

Kirk's tension mounted as two swirling pillars formed on the transporter platform. It would be awkward meeting Spock and T'Beth together. Of course, Spock was being very Vulcan—very controlled—about the whole miserable situation, but Kirk suspected that a very human part of Spock would have dearly loved to break every bone in his body.

Spock and T'Beth coalesced and stepped down from the platform, each bearing a single piece of luggage. For Kirk, any potential embarrassment was swept aside by shock. He had expected Spock to be wearing the insignia pin of a commodore—as a passenger, any fellow captain was routinely bumped up a grade. But the sight of T'Beth in a Starfleet uniform left him momentarily speechless.

"Captain Kirk," Spock said with a faint dash of amusement that meant he was secretly relishing Jim's confusion.

Kirk stared at T'Beth, his mouth open. Her hazel eyes held a glimmer identical to her father's.

"This," Spock said levelly, "is Lieutenant Cristabeth Lemoine of the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps…"—his slanted eyebrow rose fractionally—"…but I believe you two have already…met."

Kirk's face reddened and he made a mental note to tell Spock exactly what he thought about that suggestive little remark. Turning aside, he called up to the bridge and ordered the ship underway. Then he personally ushered the new arrivals down a corridor, into the nearest turbolift. As the doors enclosed them in privacy, the three looked at one another.

T'Beth smiled. "Hello, Jim."

 _The Diplomatic Corps. A full lieutenant._ Kirk's mind reeled. "Some damn secret," he said with a twinge of annoyance. "Spock, were you in on this?"

Spock shook his head slightly and gazed at the ceiling. "It seems I was considered…a poor security risk."

"Bureaucrats," Kirk said as if it were a four-letter word. He knew what it was like to be kept in the dark, and he did not enjoy it—particularly when it involved two people he cared so deeply about.

 _Pick them up,_ his orders stated. _Offer them every assistance, and then rendezvous with a tramp freighter that will carry them onward to some unspecified destination._

In view of T'Beth's past dealings with the Donaris, it was not very hard to put two and two together, and the resulting equation chilled Kirk to the bone. But that would also have to wait until later. Kirk showed his guests to their cabins and left to attend to other matters.

oooo

T'Beth lingered with her father in his assigned quarters. Designed to pamper traveling dignitaries, the roomy cabin was furnished more lavishly than any she remembered him occupying aboard ship, including that of captain. Hers was not nearly as nice.

"You'd better enjoy these perks while you can," she said, eyeing the game table's well-stocked program menu. "Conditions will be primitive where we're going." She turned and took in the large, comfortable-looking bed in the sleeping alcove. "Just look at that mattress. Not standard issue, is it?"

"Hardly," Spock agreed. "The space considerations of a starship would not allow for many of these cabins."

T'Beth turned from the bed and studied her father's profile. He seemed unusually pensive, even for him. "Yosef," she said.

To her satisfaction he responded quite naturally, as if the name were truly his. Not that they would ever need to use it. She had every confidence in their mission's full success.

"It's going to work," she assured him from the depths of her heart. "I've felt the hand of God every step of the way, guiding me, showing me exactly what had to be done." Reaching down, she patted the leg scars hidden by her uniform pants. "Father, this is why I was healed. God meant for me—for _us_ —to go back to Donari and complete His work of peace."

Spock gave her a long, searching look. She seldom spoke of such things to him. She knew how it disturbed her father, even though he believed that she had somehow been healed, and he believed in her. But God was another matter.

T'Beth went over and briefly hugged him. "I know what you're thinking, but you've seen the truth in my mind. You know I'm not crazy or obsessed like your brother Sybok."

"Yes," he said, "I have looked at life through your eyes…and you see it very differently than I."

She smiled. "You're a spiritual man, only you don't know it."

"A _rational_ man," he insisted.

"Well, we'll certainly need rationality on this mission—but all our efforts won't amount to anything without the guidance and support of a Higher Power."

His eyebrow crept upward. "The mission will unfold as it should, with or without your 'higher power'."

T'Beth shook her head fondly. "Father, you are a stubborn man—and don't try to deny it."

To her satisfaction, he made no such attempt.

oooo

Dinner was a private affair—a table for four in the captain's quarters. All through the meal, Doctor McCoy's eyes kept roving toward Spock until he finally grew ashamed of staring. A strange feeling came over him every time he looked at the Vulcan. It had been years since the fal-tor-pan ceremony on Mount Seleya, yet he sometimes felt like the Vulcan was still messing around in his head.

McCoy gave himself a mental shake and glanced at the other faces around the table. _Well, wasn't this a chummy gathering?_ Jim and his darling, and the little darling's father—rubbing elbows as if everything between them was just fine. At Spock's request, he had promised to quit riding Kirk about his involvement with T'Beth, but the whole scene gave him a tight feeling in his gut that guaranteed a royal case of indigestion.

 _Just keep your mouth shut,_ he warned himself. Spearing a forkful of Denebian dumpling, he chewed in uneasy silence. He watched Kirk swirl the wine in his glass (his third, wasn't it?) and take a deep swallow.

Kirk put down the glass empty. "So," he said in the very casual tone that spelled trouble, "you two 'Special Envoys' are on your way to Donari…"

Spock gazed at the captain, deadpan.

T'Beth coolly feigned a startled look. "Jim, where would you get an idea like that?"

"Intelligence." Kirk bit off the word and tapped a finger against his temple. "My own private branch of intelligence, young lady."

Spock cut in. "Captain, you know that we are not at liberty to discuss our assignment."

Kirk's eye narrowed. "Why is that, Commodore? Could it be because this assignment of yours involves a highly sensitive, extremely volatile region of Space?"

McCoy swallowed his dumpling. "I think Jim's right. I think that freighter of yours is going to drop you right off on Donari's doorstep. And furthermore, I think you are both certifiably insane."

Spock set down his fork, folded his napkin, and placed it on the table. Standing, he calmly addressed the captain. "Thank you for the meal, but I must excuse myself, as there is a matter I wish to discuss with Doctor McCoy."

McCoy gaped at him. "There is?"

Spock turned his way. "Yes, Doctor. In sickbay."

Kirk's brows drew together. "Spock…you're not ill, are you?"

"I am in perfect health," the Vulcan assured him.

"And Lauren?"

"The same."

McCoy shrugged at Kirk, then got up and followed Spock out of the cabin.

oooo

Kirk's door slid shut. He turned and found T'Beth frowning. In recent years they had not kept in close touch, and it was just as well. Even when she was behaving, her alien beauty tugged at him in a disconcerting way.

"So," he began casually, "what's going on?"

"With Dad and Doctor McCoy?" She shook her head and the movement made her dark hair lap against her shoulders. "I have no idea."

His eyes stayed on her face. "I never heard you call him that before."

"Call _who_ what?" she asked, her frown deepening.

"Spock. You called him 'Dad'."

One eyebrow rose and her mouth stirred into a bemused smile. "Did I? Well, I guess I'll have to be more careful."

Kirk pushed aside his plate and studied her. There had to be some way to loosen those sweet, secretive lips. Blossoming into a Starfleet officer overnight, and now this mysterious mission. "A lieutenant," he said, turning up the old Kirk charm. "I can hardly believe it. How long have they been keeping you under wraps?"

"A while," she answered vaguely.

He gave her an especially warm smile. "News has a way of filtering down the ranks. Word is, the upper echelon has been in some kind of top brass huddle for weeks." He watched her eyes for the tiniest flicker of response—not hard to do; they were downright magnetic. "Now…that wouldn't have any connection to you and your father. Would it?"

 _Nothing. She was good. Really good._

T'Beth stifled a yawn. "I'm getting tired. I think I'll turn in early."

Abruptly Kirk leaned forward and touched her arm. "T'Beth, you were very lucky to make it out of Donari alive. Please don't tell me you're going back."

She calmly removed his hand and stood up. "Jim, I'm not telling you anything…and frankly, I'm surprised at you for trying to worm classified information out of me. This isn't a game. Any breech of security could jeopardize our mission."

Kirk experienced a flash of annoyance. He had thought it would be easy to charm her, but he had failed. Now here was a mere girl of twenty-four—a sassy kid he had once turned over his knee and spanked—presuming to lecture him on military procedure. Emboldened from the evening's wine, he rose to his feet and confronted her. "Thank you, Lieutenant JG, for seeing fit to correct me. And by the way, exactly how and when did you manage to achieve that lofty rank?"

The words were meant to provoke a response from her, but T'Beth merely sighed and shook her head. "My father bought it for me. Is that what you're thinking? Do you really believe he would do that—do you really believe I'd let him? Or maybe you think I _slept_ my way up."

"All I know," Kirk said hotly, "is that you definitely did _not_ go through the academy…yet suddenly you waltz in here wearing the uniform of a Starfleet officer. Now, the best your old rank in the Border Patrol could have gotten you was something a little lower than buck-ensign, say maybe Swab Monitor or Chief Latrine Officer."

T'Beth's eyes narrowed in a way that made Kirk wonder if he had gone too far. Her voice was frosty. "I'm going to try and forget you ever said that, because I think you've had too much to drink." She shoved her chair to the table with a bang. "Captain, I hope you won't object if I leave here before this degenerates into an even uglier scene."

He struggled for something to say.

At the door she glanced back at him, eyes burning like golden embers. "It may not have occurred to you, but maybe I _am_ good for something besides sex."

"Wait—T'Beth…" The name fell from his mouth, but she was already out the door.

oooo

McCoy took Spock into his office and opaqued the windows, effectively shutting out the rest of sick bay. With some trepidation he turned around and studied the Vulcan's unreadable face. "Okay Spock, what have I done now? If this is about Jim, I swear I haven't said a word to him about T'Beth since you asked me to let it drop."

"I am sure," Spock said amiably, "that you have been more agreeable, and I do appreciate it. I am here solely for the purpose of consulting your medical expertise."

McCoy took a moment to decide if the Vulcan was making fun of him. Then breaking into a grin, he rocked back on his heels. "Well, imagine that! What is it, something to do with Laurie's research?"

"No," Spock said levelly. "It is a personal matter."

McCoy's grin faded and he perched on the edge of his desk.

Spock gave the impression of a man who badly wanted to pace, but instead settled into a chair and held himself stock-still. Very quietly he said, "I have a concern about one of the children Lauren is carrying."

"Oh?"

"The boy. He had been…diagnosed with Vash-Lester's disease."

McCoy sucked in his breath. For terrible moment he just stared into the eyes of his friend, thinking, _God no—not to Spock, not to Laurie. They don't deserve this kind of pain._ Then his voice grated, "I see."

Spock's gaze left his and settled on the floor. "Lauren has sought out several opinions—all in agreement with the initial prognosis. I thought that you might have come across some information not yet recorded in the library computer at Starfleet Medical Center."

With a heavy heart, McCoy eased off the desk and called up the latest data in the ship's computer. It was a useless exercise, but at least it made him feel like he was doing something. He kept his eyes on the screen as the placid computer voice listed off all the available facts.

Vash-Lester was an autoimmune disorder that affected approximately two percent of inter-species children. The condition began in uteri and brought about a gradual deterioration of internal organs that in virtually all cases resulted in death before the onset of puberty. Symptomatic treatment—including organ transplants—brought only limited, temporary relief for the young victims.

McCoy had heard of cases in which VL infants were abandoned at birth. The painful prospect of caring for them had simply proven too much for the parents. There was another option the parents sometimes chose. It led McCoy to think about his disease-ravaged father, whom he had disconnected from life support just weeks before a cure was discovered. The decision haunted McCoy to this day, and he could commiserate with Spock and Lauren over the many tough decisions they would be facing, perhaps for years.

The computer finished its unfeeling recital, leaving a bleak silence that hung like a pall over the office.

McCoy cleared his throat. "Sometimes…VL fetuses…" It was a calculated choice of word. "Sometimes they are terminated while still in uteri. The presence of a second fetus would make the procedure a bit trickier, but…"

Spock's eyes rose to meet his. "The _child_ ," he said firmly, "will be carried to term."

McCoy experienced a strange mixture of pain and relief. "Somehow I thought you would say that. I wish there was something more I could add, besides…of course…that I'll gladly offer any help I can."

Spock nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Needless to say, this situation has greatly upset Lauren. I believe she would find it comforting if you keep in touch with her while I am gone."

There was time when McCoy might have jumped Spock for not admitting aloud to his own pain, but he had since come to understand something of the Vulcan's need for emotional privacy and the dignity it allowed him. He simply said, "Of course. You can count on me. What about T'Beth—does she know?"

"For the time being, Lauren and I have decided to keep this information to ourselves. We want Simon and T'Beth to relate to their new brother in as normal a manner as possible."

"That's probably best," McCoy agreed.

"If you wish, you may tell Jim," Spock said, "but I trust you will not mention this matter to anyone else."

oooo

Spock stood by the antique ship's wheel in the forward observation room and gazed out at the raw, unfiltered view of hyperspace. He liked to come here when the room was unoccupied and leave it dark. In some ways this spot reminded him of his balcony in San Francisco—a solitary place where he could stand and watch and be alone with his thoughts.

Tonight his thoughts were with the wife and son he had left behind on Earth. He was glad that the parting had been amicable; their good relations would improve his ability to concentrate on the mission ahead.

The door opened behind him, flooding the room with a pale wash of light from the corridor. Spock half-turned and saw Captain Kirk come inside. The door slid shut. For a moment Kirk hung back in the shadows, and Spock knew that McCoy had spoken to him about James.

The glow from the stars struck Kirk's face as he moved nearer. "Spock…" he began. Then silence.

Spock became aware of his own breathing, and Kirk's, and the fine symphony of vibrations humming through the starship's massive structure. "It is alright, Jim. The news is not all bad. You should know that Lauren and I have decided to name the boy after you—unless, of course, you have some objection."

Kirk stared at him, dumbfounded.

"James," Spock said. "His name would be James Skon."

A self-conscious smile tugged at the corners of Kirk's mouth. "Really?"

"Really," Spock assured him. The pain that was never far from the surface lanced upward, threatening to constrict his throat. Turning from his friend, he touched his fingers to the scarred surface of the old ship's wheel. "In ancient Vulcan, only the fittest children were deemed worthy to bear the name of an honored friend. Even today, it is not customary to name a sickly infant after someone who is still living. But I thought you would feel differently."

"You're damn right I do!" Kirk's voice was thick with emotion. "Your son—your own flesh and blood. Spock, I'm deeply touched…and _honored."_ He hesitated. "If there's anything I can do, anything at all…"

Spock turned around and faced him. "I must admit, there is a matter weighing on my mind." He retrieved a computer disk from a pocket inside his jacket and held it out to the captain. "Jim, I have a family now. In the event that my mission is…unsuccessful, will you deliver this to my wife?"

Kirk grimly stared at the disk for a long moment before taking it into his hand.

"Thank you," Spock said, adding, "and if you would look in on them from time to time, your schedule permitting…"

Kirk found his voice. "Spock, this is getting downright macabre. There's no need even to ask such a thing. You're like a brother to me. I stood by you when you got married, and if…if the need ever arises…I'll stand by Lauren and the children, too."

Spock felt relieved. "Once more I thank you," he said, and turned to leave.

"Spock." Kirk's voice stopped him. "Just how dangerous is this mission of yours?'

"Jim, I've told you—"

"Just enough to set me worrying. But never mind." Kirk buried the disk deep in his jacket. "I've been duly chastised by your daughter, and I won't mentions your orders again. Why don't you come back to my cabin? We can break out the chess board."

"That is very gracious of you," Spock said, "but is there not someone else you would rather be with?" He meant T'Beth, and judging by the set of Kirk's jaw, the captain understood well enough.

"No," Kirk said firmly," there isn't. Do you know how long it's been since we faced off?"

Strange, how sharply Spock recalled some memories since the fal-tor-pan. He could have cited the precise date and time-to-the-second of their last chess game, as well as the exact sequence of each move. But he said, "Jim, we are leaving soon. It would be wise to resolve whatever difficulty has arisen between you and T'Beth."

"What makes you think there's any difficulty?" Kirk bluffed.

"I am not thinking anything in particular," Spock replied, "but I will hold you personally responsible if the lieutenant's morale is low. She seemed rather morose when I last saw her."

Kirk shook his head. "Trust me, Spock. She's seen enough of me for today."

"Very well, then," Spock conceded, "the game is on."


	3. Whispers in the Sand

**3) Whispers in the Sand**

Spock sat near his sleeping daughter in a dim corner of the freighter's half-empty hold. His hair felt shaggy around his eartips and collar, and his beard itched, but the "slave look" produced by a growth accelerator helped shield him from the hold's chill. Apparently the smugglers' cargo did not require much heat. Drawing his blanket around him, he briefly wondered what the unmarked crates contained.

Suddenly an odd sensation swirled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt himself rising off his pad. An instant later he slammed downward with a force that jarred his spine. From somewhere deep in the hull came a groaning of stressed metal.

T'Beth sighed and turned over, too absorbed by her own concerns to comment on the gravity field's brief malfunction. Before beaming off the Enterprise, Spock had detected some residual strain between her and Jim. It would seem that their difficulties had not been fully resolved.

A loud metallic clank echoed through the hold, as if someone had struck a wrench against a hull bracing. Then silence, but for the periodic shudder of an engine imbalance.

Spock was glad they would not be aboard the ramshackle freighter for very long. Rearranging his blanket, he lay down and thought of the challenge awaiting them on Donari.

oooo

A warm hand gently shook T'Beth from her dreams. Turning onto her back, she opened her eyes and found a hairy-faced stranger looming above her in the shadows.

Startled, she leapt to her feet in a defense posture. Then recognition hit, and she laughed aloud. "Sorry, Father. For a second there I thought you were one of our sweet-smelling hosts."

"You might not smell very sweet, either," he said, "if you spent your life roaming through Space on one of these vessels."

Out of habit T'Beth glanced at the spot where her wrist chronometer should have been. From now on she would have to rely on her father's Vulcan time sense. "I gather we're about to be dropped off?"

Wearing a blanket like a shawl, Father said, "By my calculation, we should be approaching the Sy-Don Corridor."

T'Beth stretched. She had not slept very well aboard the Enterprise—no wonder she had dozed. Picking up her discarded blanket, she draped it over her father's shoulders. Their frayed trousers and simple shirts were suitable for Donari slaves in a desert, but the cheap brown material was not warm enough for a Vulcan in this frigid hold.

Smiling, she reached out and touched his whiskers. "I haven't seen you like this since the Klingons took us, but I think I like it. You should save it to show Lauren when we get back."

Spock dug his fingernails into the freshly grown beard and scratched along his jawline. "Be assured, I intend to rid myself of it at the very first opportunity."

T'Beth grinned and shook her head. "I swear, all you Vulcans are in beard-denial."

Father stopped scratching long enough to raise an eyebrow "My brother wore a beard."

"And as I understand it, Uncle Sybok wasn't considered a proper Vulcan, either. When this is over, I think I'll get together with Doctor McCoy and write a paper on it. 'The Origins of Beard Phobia in the Male Vulcan Psychology' or 'Why Growing a Beard Made Me Feel Like a Wild Man'."

Father looked downright scandalized. "You would not!"

T'Beth challenged him with a raised eyebrow of her own. "Beards are natural—therefore I submit that beards are _logical."_

Suddenly the deck lurched from under their feet. T'Beth and her father stumbled sideways and clung to the nearest shipping cartons. The freighter's structure began to vibrate violently. T'Beth cast an anxious glance at her father. His head was cocked to one side as he listened intently.

"What's going on?" she shouted over the din.

"I believe," Spock said just as loudly, "that our hosts have simultaneously initiated a course change and reduction in speed. We had better get to the transporter."

"Dear God," T'Beth muttered, "let it be working better than the rest of this miserable heap…"

oooo

With a brief sense of exhilaration, Spock felt his thin Donari shoes settling into sand. A cool midnight breeze riffled his overlong hair as the transporter beam released him at the foot of a mountain. _At last the mission had truly begun._ Turning, he checked on T'Beth before taking stock of their barren surroundings. This might have been Vulcan's desert, but for the slight variations in gravity and atmosphere, and the gemlike planet looming large in the star-swept sky. Sydok's lavish marbling of clouds and oceans spoke of a natural wealth that had tempted Donari raiders for centuries.

"Beautiful," T'Beth whispered, "isn't she?"

"Indeed," Spock replied.

His eyes lowered to the horizon where lightning flashed silently from a distant storm. There was not a sound anywhere. Changing position, he gazed up at the rugged mount that served as a natural fortress for one of the Donaris' underground cells. Tension stirred at the prospect of meeting the People who had purportedly cast off their savage ways.

"Look—it's still here," T'Beth said in a low, excited voice. She set off running.

Following at a slower pace, Spock rounded a scattering of boulders and found a twisted metallic hulk half buried in the sand. Though the elements had long since scoured off any distinguishing emblems, he had no doubt as to the Stinger's identity.

T'Beth stared soberly at the charred remains of her downed fighter. "The Polecat—just look at her. I should have been killed."

Spock silently concurred. He found it difficult to imagine how anything resembling a human being could have been pulled from the crushed, battered cockpit. As he moved forward to examine the debris, he heard yapping sounds from a doglike species—too distant to be an immediate threat, but he was keenly aware of the fact that they were carrying no weapons.

He took another step and froze in his tracks, all senses alert to the sudden knowledge that they were no longer alone. From the base of the mountain came whispers in the sand, furtive motion, and subdued clicking sounds.

T'Beth responded with a Donari greeting and happily told Spock, "It's the Companion—the one who taught me!"

A robed figure came into sight, large orange eyes peering out from distinctly reptilian faces. Spock could not tell if it was male or female. There was no easy way for an offworlder to identify the sex of fully clothed Donaris. The women were as large as the men and lacked mammalian development. They had no need for breasts; Donari infants were born with their teeth and digestive tracts fully prepared for the adult diet.

The Donari approached Spock, its movements smooth and unhurried, the starlight shimmering on its scaly gray hide. Spock met its unblinking gaze and stood motionless as four clawed fingers reached out and gently touched his beard.

"Excellent," the Donari clicked. "Most convincing. Deep welcome, Yosef ben Saban." A growl rose from its throat, which Spock interpreted as an expression of pleasure and/or amusement. "Praise the Divine One, you will find that we treat our 'slaves' most kindly here."

Pre-mission briefings had prepared Spock for a warm reception from the Donari underground. The first 21.2 hours of the day cycle swept aside any doubts that he had harbored about the peaceful intent—and integrity—of these People. Though their existence was Spartan, they lived nobly and well. Intelligence reports had not done full justice to their resourcefulness and organizational ability. Most of the key personnel were already in place, awaiting the final implementation of the political takeover. Spock suggested additional tactics for disabling military installations and weaponry with a minimum of bloodshed.

One day merged into another, with little time to think about anything but the work at hand. Scarcely an hour went by without the arrival of another representative of some far-flung cell. The People hungered for stories of the many peaceable worlds outside their own—of Earth and Vulcan and other members of the Federation of Planets. Often their discussions took a philosophical turn, and Spock traded ideas with them late into the night.

Early one morning, he donned a warm Donari cloak and made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels to the grotto where T'Beth had somehow been healed. The air was cold and damp. Sconces set in the cavern walls held flickering torches. A pair of robed Donaris stood in an attitude of reverence beside a large pool that they considered sacred.

Following T'Beth's cultural advice, Spock approached the pool and squatting down, scooped some of the icy water into his cupped hand. Though he was expected to pay homage to the Divine Presence by drinking it, he only pretended to swallow some. He would have liked to test for bacterial content. The People regularly entered this pool to bathe diseased bodies and open wounds, yet like the Celestial Stream of Andor and the Miraculous Grotto of Lourdes in France, it was said that no one who imbibed this water had ever been known to fall ill. That, Spock found very difficult to accept—as difficult as T'Beth's instantaneous healing. What really happened here on that day? How could crushed, infected legs be so quickly restored to health?

Leaving the pool, he retreated to a prayer ledge and meditated in his own manner.

oooo

T'Beth awoke in her candlelit cave-chamber, warmed by a small, smokeless brazier of Donari coal. For a time she was content just to lie on her pallet and think. All week a constant stream of peace advocates had been coming and going in preparation for the revolutionary changes about to overtake their planet. She was so grateful for the opportunity to contribute. She felt privileged to work alongside her father and see him exercise the personal and professional skills developed over decades. The more she watched him, the clearer one thing became. Perhaps it was the early training pressed on him by his father, or perhaps it was simple heredity. Spock was turning out to be more than a valued advisor to the People. He was also a damn good diplomat. And she thought, _wouldn't it be ironic if he someday fulfilled Sarek's dream for him and became an ambassador?_

Life was strange indeed. Sometimes she felt its whimsical flow bubbling up inside her like the living force that it was, drawing her into its unpredictable current, carrying her along effortlessly. Four years ago she fell from the Donari sky, physically broken and consumed by hatred for a father she considered cold and controlling. Yet today she felt fortunate to have returned to these primitive caverns with the very man she once reviled.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of the not-so-distant past. Upon returning to Earth she had asked her father for forgiveness, and after sorting out some misunderstandings, they had both put the past behind them. But it was easier to forgive than to forget—particularly for a Vulcan whose memory stored every occurrence in sharp, precise detail. One thing was certain; the past could not be altered. There was no way to erase from her father's mind all the terrible things she had said and done over the years, but the present was in her hands. With each day she would show him how much she had changed and never, ever hurt him that way again.

T'Beth's stomach rumbled with hunger. Soon the People would be gathering together for a meager breakfast of cave-grown mushrooms and dried meat. More contacts were expected to arrive, bringing vital provisions as well as news of the impending operation. Once the military elite were overthrown, their hoarded food-stores would be distributed to the needy. The Federation would then drop relief supplies until the new governmental and economic structures began to function, and necessary treaties and trade arrangements could be worked out.

A rush of footsteps in the outer tunnel set her door curtain swaying. Startled, she sat up. No one ever hurried here below.

A clawed hand thrust her curtain aside. Fierce orange eyes darted over the chamber and abruptly settled on her. From beneath its robe the Donari produced a Klingon disrupter and targeted her with its barrel.

T'Beth's blood ran cold.

"Slaves!" clicked the Donari. "The insurgent hypocrites keep slaves!"

Anger flooded T'Beth as she rose from her pallet. Who was this strange Donari? How had it infiltrated the underground? Though she hoped and prayed it was acting alone, she knew that was at best a dim hope. Most likely the entire cell was under siege. Her first, deepest instinct was to fight with everything at her disposal. But if the contingency plan was in effect, she was now a mere slave named Ja-Rel. And Donari-trained slaves did not lash out at their betters.

She decided to proceed with caution until the full scope of the invasion became clear. Swallowing her rage, she reminded herself that the all-knowing God had guided her to this moment. He would see that she and her father were protected. The mission would succeed. The People's hope for peace would not be in vain.

With a guttural noise, the Donari intruder strode forward and shoved her toward the doorway. It sharp talons tore her sleeve and left stinging scratches on her upper arm.

"Move!" it ordered.

T'Beth stepped barefoot into the torch-lit tunnel. The disrupter jabbed her shoulder blade, indicating the she should turn right, toward the grotto. Heart pounding, she obeyed. _Slave,_ it had called her—not "Starfleet spy" or "Federation swine". That would indicate that the People had not been betrayed from within the upper levels of their own ranks. Either this infiltration was the result of a low-level leak, or surveillance by Donari's military government.

The tunnel declined sharply as she approached the grotto. Ominous sounds drifted toward her—the discharge of weapons, the staccato clicking of fierce commands. Abruptly her captor grabbed her from behind and cinched her wrists together with a restraining thong. She felt the tug of a leash.

"Proceed!" came the demand.

Careful of her footing, she descended the final precarious flight of rock-hewn stairs to the grotto. Harsh spotlights illuminated every corner of the vast cavern. Stopping, she stared in dismay at a brutal, taunting hoard of uniformed Donari soldiers manhandling captive members of the underground. In one corner a camera crew filmed strip searches.

T'Beth stifled a cry of outrage. She felt a sharp tug on her bound arms, and the end of the leash whipped across her thinly clad shoulder. Before she could react, the soldier kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. With her hands bound, there was no way to break the fall. She landed hard on her face in the stony ground.

"Look here!" clicked her captor. Its boot settled in the middle of her back. "Another slave among the 'Holy People of Perfection'!"

"That makes two," someone responded. "Take care not to damage her too much. She will be useful for publicity. Get some pictures of her."

A camera operator closed in. T'Beth felt blood flowing from a cut on her face. Her cheekbone throbbed. She raised her eyes and saw a soldier open its clothes and urinate into the Sacred Waters. Sickened by the desecration, she turned her head to the crowd of prisoners and searched among them for her father. Her eyes lit on a stockpile of planted weaponry being photographed as "evidence".

The boot came off her back. Taloned hands dug into her arm and yanked her to her feet. A spotlight blinded her before passing on. Blinking to clear the afterimage, she glimpsed a solitary figure tethered to a stalagmite on a rise across the grotto. Then the leash slapped her like the reins of a horse, and she moved as directed.

oooo

Spock's cloak had been taken from him and he was cold. Outwardly impassive, he watched as T'Beth was brought over and tied to another stalagmite near him. Their eyes briefly met when the soldiers were fastening her, but though the glance drove deeply into his heart, he did not react. T'Beth's face was bloodied and already swelling from her fall, and she appeared to be in a highly emotional state. He hoped the Donaris had not bound her too tightly; his own hands were numb from lack of circulation.

Sharp-eyed sentries patrolled the area constantly. More than once a soldier stopped to manually test Spock's bonds and peer at the beard on his face, lips drawn back in disgust. Spock watched in the periphery of his vision as a guard approached T'Beth and stared at her. Using its gun barrel, it nudged her breasts, then pushed her hair aside and looked curiously at her semi-Vulcanoid ears. After a moment it resumed its patrol.

Spock shifted his position in an effort to relieve the strain on his arms, then took in the horror of the scene below. Perhaps, in this instance, it was preferable to be a slave and spared the indignities being enacted in full view of the cameras. If the Donaris considered him and his daughter unworthy of their immediate attention, so much the better—but he had no doubt that their turn would come. Meanwhile T'Beth would have a chance to recover her composure, and he would have time to think.

After the strip searches were completed, the soldiers began moving out the naked, manacled prisoners in groups of six. From start to finish, the entire operation had been carried out with swift, cruel efficiency.

At last only he and T'Beth remained.

A trio of soldiers approached and unfastened the thongs tethering them to the stalagmites, but their hands remained firmly tied behind them. One guard jerked Spock to his feet and struck his back with the butt of a disrupter rifle. T'Beth staggered up beside him. There was a brisk march through the vacated tunnels, then they emerged into a bright desert morning.

Spock had expected to find a transport vehicle and more soldiers, but as far as he could tell, they were alone. It was, perhaps, the best opportunity for escape that they would ever have. The mountain was honeycombed with hiding places and its sensor resistant ores would help mask their presence until friendly forces could get them out. Half turning, he caught T'Beth's eye. She had a workable knowledge of military defense techniques as well as lower forms of combat. In addition to those same skills, he was a master of Vulcan Asumi, but without the use of their hands, they were both at a considerable disadvantage.

Spock strained at his bindings and felt the tough leather stretch slightly and hold.

The chief soldier raised a communicating device to its mouth.

Gathering himself, Spock whirled and kicked out with all his strength. His shoe targeted the Donari squarely in the jaw. With a grunt the soldier fell backward. The communicator slipped from its clawed fingers and dropped into the sand.

In the corner of his vision, Spock saw T'Beth hesitate a beat before delivering a barefoot kick to the second Donari's throat. The soldier dropped to its knees.

The remaining soldier began to aim its disrupter. Spock struck the barrel with his foot, knocking it aside, but the Donari maintained its grip. T'Beth landed a second, savage blow on the soldier's arm. There was the sound of a bone snapping. The weapon fell.

As Spock swung around to confront a Donari rising from the ground, there was a sudden disorienting sense of being plunged, atom by atom, over a vast swirling distance. The desert faded from view. It would have been pleasant to find himself and his daughter in the transporter room of a Starfleet vessel, or even a tramp freighter. But those odds were slim indeed.

Phantom walls took shape and solidified around him. Abruptly Spock found himself targeted by a hostile, well-armed squad of Donari soldiers. There was no logic in resisting further. A sidelong glance revealed that T'Beth had arrived safely. Then the captain of the guard unhooked a whip from its belt and approached them.

Spock stepped into the Donari's path, effectively diverting its attention from T'Beth. The soldier touched the whip to Spock's neck and stared at him, orange eyes narrowed and menacing.

"What have we here?" it clicked. "Slave warriors?"

Spock gave no reply.

With a swift motion, the Donari brought the whip down hard on his neck. Spock winced, and setting aside his stoic Vulcan training, let out a gasp of pain.

The soldier eyed the green blood seeping from the injury. "Vulcan…or Romulan. Maybe some of both. As for this other one…" It turned its attention to T'Beth. Using the whip like a pointer, it nudged the dried, brownish blood on her cheek. "Their kind all look so much alike."

Abruptly he turned and stepped off the transporter stage. "Bring them!"

oooo

T'Beth shivered uncontrollably. Stripped of her clothing, she lay on a metallic examination table while a team of Donaris leisurely poked and explored her body as if she were a piece of meat. She closed her eyes tightly, holding in the humiliation and outrage that threatened to spill out in tears while she listened to their rude comments. She tried not to think of them abusing her father's dignity in these same ways. That was the worst of it—knowing he would likely be next on this hellish table, and knowing that her own arrogant presumptions put him there.

A cold tool touched her wrist, causing an electric jolt and explosion of pain that contracted her fingers. She felt her mind wrenching away from her control, flailing about for some way to escape the horror of her situation. _All my fault? No, damn it, I won't accept that! He knew the orders—he should never have attacked those soldiers. But once he threw that first blow, I had to jump in, too. It's amazing we weren't killed outright, but now these imbeciles want to find out what makes us tick. "Warrior slaves". When they're through here, they'll probably grind us up and feed us to their dogs…_

But deep down she knew this was not all her father's fault. No matter how good their behavior, they probably would have landed on this table. It was the Donari way to probe and analyze anything new or different. Even knowing this, T'Beth had begged Spock to come along with her on this mission. _No problem. Trust me, nothing can go wrong. God is on our side._

Well, Father had trusted her, alright. Would she ever be able to meet his eyes again? More to the point—would she ever _see_ him again?

When the Donaris finished, they handed back her clothes and shoved her into a small, bare room with a toilet hole in one corner. The door locked shut and T'Beth leaned back against it, shaking. Her eyes lit on a surveillance camera mounted in the ceiling; turning away, she dressed quickly.

How long had it been since their capture? She was exhausted from nervous tension. Her stomach gnawed with hunger and she was terribly thirsty. Looking around, she found a wall spigot above the toilet hole, turned it on, and gulped lukewarm water before washing the blood from her face. Then she lay down in a corner with her back to the camera and the door. Meditation eluded her, and for the first time in years she felt too overwrought to summon more than a single scorching prayer.

 _Is this why you healed me? For this?_

Time crept by on clawed feet. Where was Spock? What was taking so long? The Donari's testing would show she was his daughter and not likely to interbreed. Would they be separated anyway?

At last the door opened, then clanged shut again. T'Beth's heart began to hammer. Staring at the scarred wall, she clamped her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of someone dressing. _Was it him…or some other unfortunate captive?_

After a long moment she became aware that the person was standing near her. T'Beth forced herself to sit up and turn around. At the sight of her father she felt her slim thread of control snap. Her face contorted and she hid behind her hand, but the sobs building in her chest broke loose. "I'm so sorry," she choked out. "Father, I'm so sorry…"

Reaching down, he gently but firmly pulled her to her feet and held her at arm's length. "Ja-rel," he said very deliberately, "please do not upset yourself. We are slaves. Our bodies, our allegiance, belong to our new masters. From now on we will serve only them."

Eyes downcast, T'Beth heard the edge of warning in his voice. She had to get hold of herself before she slipped and said the wrong thing. Drawing on her father's strength, she calmed a little and wiped away her tears. At least for now they were together.

"You're right," she said, still too ashamed to meet his gaze. "I know you're right, Father." For safety's sake she would only use that form of address or the name Yosef. "What do you think they're going to do with us?"

He stroked his beard and considered. "I should think that we will be a headline story on the six o'clock news."

Startled, T'Beth forgot her embarrassment and looked into his gentle, impossibly serene eyes. "Now…of all times…you're making a joking?"

His eyebrow shrugged. "That was not my intention."

oooo

Sometime later, a squad of soldiers burst into the room. Spock rose from where he had been sitting. Both his and T'Beth's wrists were drawn back and securely bound once again. As an added precaution they were hobbled and fitted with leather collars that could be cinched dangerously tight with a single yank of a leash. Obviously the Donaris were taking no further chances.

Spock offered no resistance as they were led down a series of hallways to a broadcast studio. Soldiers untied their hands and thrust the two of them into a pair of chairs—clearly the main focus of a large camera. Technicians began adjusting their equipment.

Spock murmured to his daughter, "It would seem that my assumption about the news was correct."

From what Spock could overhear, they were about to be interrogated. The questioning, meant to ridicule and discredit the peace movement, would be broadcast in primetime installments on a government controlled station. A slave's silence would only invite abuse. They were under orders from Starfleet to answer every questions according to the contingency plan.

Large lights switched on, flooding the studio with a desert-like heat that Spock found agreeable. Beside him, T'Beth's hand clenched the arm of her chair. A fine sheen of perspiration appeared on her pale, bruised face.

A sudden stir near the studio door drew Spock's attention. His eyes met those of a tall, rugged Donari in battle garb. A long, jagged scar running the length of the scaly cheek left no doubt as to soldier's identity. It was K-Kotle the Ruthless, overlord of Donari's dominant warrior tribe.

K-Kotle sat surrounded by his military escort and gazed at his newly acquired slaves with interest.

The camera began to film. A commentator stepped up to a lectern and opened the program. First, a highly slanted report on the siege of the grotto, with special emphasis on two slaves seized from the People who openly decry the practice of slavery. Next, the Donari who had supervised the degrading medical examinations came forward with his findings. Racially, the medic identified Spock and T'Beth to perfection and had deduced that they were father and child. The speaker went on to explain why the Donaris were inherently superior.

In a scholarly manner it asserted, "As always, the mixing of races results in an interesting but inferior product fit only for subservience." An arm rose dramatically. "One has only to look at them. See their soft, useless hides. See their small, darting eyes. They injure so very easily."

While the camera lens zoomed into close-ups of their bruises, Spock thought about the injuries he and his "soft useless" daughter had inflicted on K-Kotle's rugged Donari soldiers.

A new face appeared at the lectern. Pausing to consult a program in its hand, it began questioning Spock by means of a translating device.

A computer voice spoke in Vulcan. "Yanamo mekano ra nanuto itisha ta?" _What is your name?_

Spock had no trouble understanding either the Donari clicks or his native tongue as produced by the translator. He spoke to his captors for the first time. "Wasimo mekano ra Yosef ben Saban ro itisha." _My name is Yosef ben Saban._

Not a lie, but a military cover assumed under direct orders from his superiors.

None of the questions that followed were difficult, but Spock's explanation as to how he had first arrived on the planet aroused exclamations of disbelief from every Donari in the studio. The interrogator left the podium, and approaching Spock's chair, adjusted the translator to Federation Standard, the language spoken by every member of Starfleet.

"Do you mean to tell me that mixed breed curs such as yourself are allowed to pilot fighters into battle?"

"Yes, people of mixed heritage can even command starships," Spock replied in the same language.

A growl of amusement rumbled from K-Kotle's deep chest, and the other Donaris joined in.

Spock risked a glance at T'Beth. Instantly a soldier stepped up behind him and struck his head an openhanded blow. Spock felt a sharp talon slice his scalp, then a trickle of blood.

"Eyes forward!" clicked the soldier.

T'Beth whirled in her seat, defiant anger flaring in her eyes. The same soldier jerked at her leash and she arched back, coughing and retching from the painful pressure on her throat. Spock suppressed his natural desire to protect her. On an intellectual level he realized that any action on his part would only incite the guard to further violence; that left to themselves, the Donari would likely remember that T'Beth was more valuable alive than dead. But the seconds stretched unbearably as he sat looking straight ahead, appearing totally unaffected by his daughter's physical distress.

At last an order was issued and the soldier eased the collar's deadly constriction. T'Beth slumped forward, still coughing but able to breathe freely.

"This is ridiculous," the interrogator complained in Donari to someone off-camera. "What are we producing here, a comedy? These slaves are nothing but liars."

"The cameras are still rolling," came the terse response. "This is costing money. Just get on with it—we can edit later."

The interrogator sighed, but as he turned his attention to T'Beth, the soldier nearest K-Kotle rose up and said, "Kap-Elti has spoken well. Unruliness and lying are not to be tolerated in slaves. These two have misbehaved in public and so they must be publicly punished. They must be whipped onscreen."

Spock waited. No longer coughing, T'Beth also sat perfectly still in her chair. At this point there was nothing more either of them could say or do. They had attacked and injured Donari soldiers. Severe punishment was inevitable.

But in the silence K-Kotle spoke and said, "No."


	4. K-Kotle's Pets

**4) K-Kotle's Pets**

Things could have been worse, T'Beth reminded herself. At fourteen years of age, she and her father had been held hostage by Klingons. They had endured savage beatings and she had been molested as well. No, there were definitely things much worse than what the two of them were experiencing here. Still, it galled her. She did not like seeing her father reduced, like her, to waiting on Donari tables, even if those tables belonged to the most powerful Donari on the whole sunburnt planet and it made them privy to military secrets.

K-Kotle's pets—that is what they had become. At every banquet—and there was always one in the planning—the chieftain paraded his "warrior slaves" in fancy servitor garb for the amusement of his guests. Compared to the other palace slaves, they were treated uncommonly well as long as they did not spill any food or beverage in someone's lap. And as long as K-Kotle did not imbibe too deeply from the abundant store of liquor in his cellar.

When he got drunk, his orange eyes shot through with red streaks and he took to staring at T'Beth as if she was not half as ugly as he proclaimed to his guests. Once, after just such a banquet, K-Kotle had made her bring towels into his bath where he awaited her, completely unclothed. She had seen the telltale blush at the base of his throat and knew what it meant. As she handed him the towels he had asked her if she found the sight of his body pleasing, but she pretended not to understand. Fortunately he had never bothered her in that way again, but now he was turning his attention on Spock, singling out her father with endless, probing questions about his mental and physical capacities.

The sessions worried T'Beth. Sometimes her father returned from them with cuts and bruises on his body, and she felt like killing K-Kotle with her bare hands. But then she would remind herself of her orders.

There were times when the thought of evening was the only thing that kept her going. Day's end, when starlight shone through the barred window of the dingy chamber she shared with her father in the slave quarters. Two bed-pallets, a single lampstand, and a separate lavatory. Left to themselves, they could speak freely in low voices.

One night T'Beth lay on her bed, struggling against a depression darker than the Donari sky. Her fingers tugged at the metallic monitoring collar that was locked too snug for comfort. She had never quite grown used to its annoying pressure, never given up on the hope of removing it, though Father had assured her that, like his own, the collar was there to stay.

"I should never have involved you in this crazy scheme," she said, not for the first time. "I was so sure I was right. Now here we are, prisoners being used as propaganda against the very People we came to help."

She heard her father move, and saw his shadowy figure rise up and sit on the edge of his pallet.

In a quiet voice he replied, "It is normal to experience some distress in a situation such as ours, but it seems to me that you have lost the religious faith that was so important to you."

T'Beth turned her head and gazed up toward the ceiling. She felt cold, dry, and empty—as if something beautiful inside her had slipped away forever. "I suppose you'll say that it's about time I wise up and face reality."

Father was silent for a moment. Then he said, "That was not my intention. I want you to hear an ancient Chinese story told to me by your friend Yong Po. Perhaps you already know it.

"Sai Yung had a son who, like you, was very fond of horses. One day the son became distraught when his favorite horse ran away. Sai Yung tried to console him and said, 'There is no reason to feel so sad. You never know, the horse might come back to you'.

"After a few days, the horse indeed came back, bringing with it an entire herd of fine horses. The son was overjoyed, and the neighbors came to congratulate him on his good luck. But Sai Yung remained calm and said to them, 'There is no reason to feel overly happy. You never know what might happen with those horses'.

"Soon after that, his son was thrown from one of the new horses and broke his leg. The neighbors came back to offer their condolences, but still Sai Yung remained calm and told them, 'I have no need of your sympathy. I do not feel sad at all, for I know that a misfortune may turn out to be a blessing in disguise'.

"And he was right. Soon after, a war broke out and all the able-bodied men were drafted into the army. Being injured, Sai Yung's son was exempt from military service and so avoided fighting."

There were tears in T'Beth's eyes when the tale ended. "Yes, I know that story, but how can _this_ possibly be good? The Donari peace movement has suffered a terrible setback. Lauren is home alone, about to give birth, and Simon doesn't have his father. I tore you away from your family—and for what?"

Father's answer was slow in coming. "Ja-rel…I chose to come here of my own free will. Like you, I believed that the mission had merit." He paused. "And must I remind you that you are also a member of my family?"

T'Beth's heart warmed at the words.

Gently he added, "You must not allow yourself to lose hope. Our positions here provide us with many valuable opportunities to glean information. We have learned a great deal just by keeping our eyes and ears open. And remember, there are People who have infiltrated every strata of this society. Even here, some of the Donaris we encounter each day might be helping us without our knowing. Take, for example, the squad leader that met us in the transporter room when we first arrived."

T'Beth turned and caught the glimmer of her father's eyes. "You think he's one of them? But he hit you."

"He could have done much worse. Considering that we had just attacked Donari soldiers, we should have been beaten—as you would say—to 'within an inch of our lives.' "

"Maybe they're still saving it for primetime," she said bitterly. "'Slave-Warriors: the Documentary'."

Father made no further comment. After a moment he switched on the lamp between their beds and reached for the crude Chinese Chess pieces T'Beth had drawn on waste paper using an appropriated Donari pencil. Only yesterday she had given him his first lesson and now here he was, using the game to draw her out of a black mood.

Piece by piece he set up a contest on the old, battered lamp stand. "As I recall," he said, "in Chinese Chess there are sixteen pieces—two rooks, two cannons, two knights, two counselors…"

oooo

The next day Spock and T'Beth joined some other slaves in cleaning a little used wing of the palace. Spock was studying the intricate workmanship of the cabinet he was polishing when a pair of soldiers converged on him. As T'Beth watched in mute horror his hands were bound, his neck leashed, and he was abruptly taken away.

At a palace door, they stopped to deactivate his monitoring collar. Then they walked out into the sun and loaded him into a military ground vehicle which drove several miles to the building that housed, among other things, the familiar broadcast studio. After a brief march through the hallways, the soldiers bypassed the studio and continued into the medical laboratory where the preliminary examinations were conducted.

Spock tensed as he was led inside. His last sojourn within these walls had been less than pleasant and he had no wish to repeat the degrading ordeal.

A soldier roughly turned him around and shoved him up against the examination table. The barrel of a disrupter dug into his spine while his hands were being untied. Then they forced him to lie face-up on the table, and locked him into place. A transparent hood dropped over his face, bringing a foul gaseous odor. Spock coughed and gagged as a burning sensation spread deeply into his lungs. Before long, his consciousness began to dim and the sense of suffocation faded. Then darkness descended like a curtain.

 _…Spock found himself at his home in San Francisco, playing with Mosha. The calico cat was not as young as she had once been, but even so he enticed her to play by throwing out a little ball which he then bounced back over the carpet by an attached string. He smiled a little as Mosha pounced on the lure, then released it and madly scurried away._

 _It seemed to Spock a strange—though enjoyable—thing for him to be doing._

 _His wife Lauren entered the room and sat down so that her slim body was close beside him. That, too, seemed odd, although Spock could not comprehend why. He felt as if he had not seen her in a long time. Lauren had cut her hair short, and he liked how the soft golden curls framed her face. The style accentuated the ways in which their son resembled her. It was good to be with his wife, good to be home among things that were safe and familiar._

 _As Lauren touched his clean-shaven face, he said, "Simon. Where is Simon?"_

 _She gave him a very human smile. "Baseball season—remember?"_

 _It seemed to him that there was something else he should be remembering, but as he attempted to recall it, Lauren's image began to waver._

 _"No—" he called, reaching for her…_

A sound not unlike that of crickets drew Spock reluctantly from his dream. He lay on a very hard surface with a strange, nauseating scent in his nostrils.

He abruptly realized where he was. His body gave a reflexive jerk, as if trying to shake off the painful reality. Turning his head, he vomited.

Something struck him hard across the cheek. He opened his eyes to a grayish blur. With an effort his vision slowly came into focus. A Donari face stared down at him, scaly and orange of eye. Anger emanated from it like a searing wall of flame. The creature seized Spock and jerked him upright. Head bowed with pain and nausea, Spock sat on the table's edge while the room swayed dizzily.

"Get him out of here," a Donari clicked.

A searing whiplash cut across Spock's back, rousing him from the drug stupor. He surmised that he was expected to stand, and attempted to get off the table. Soldiers caught hold and yanked his arms back into the usual bindings. Ordered to walk, he lurched sideways into a Donari that vented its wrath with several more lashes of a whip. He dropped to knees, gasping.

"Enough!" someone snapped and the beating came to an immediate end. "Can you not see that he is weak? Pick him up, if need be, and carry him. I will not have K-Kotle thinking I put those marks on him."

Grumbling among themselves, the soldiers pulled Spock to his feet and helped him back to their vehicle.

oooo

T'Beth had not seen her father since morning, when he was led away without any explanation. Sick with worry, she stood holding her dinner pail while the slave keeper opened her room and prepared to shut her in for the night. Light from the hallway streamed over the foot of her father's pallet, which at first glance seemed empty. Then she stepped inside and glimpsed a figure sitting at the head of his bed.

Her heart leaped. As the door locked behind her, she hurried over and switched on the lamp. Her dinner pail slipped from her fingers and landed on the hard stone floor.

"Father!" she cried, shocked at how pale and strained his face looked above the darkness of his beard. "What happened? Where did they take you?"

His hoarse reply chilled her. "To the laboratory. I was put on the restraint table and anesthetized. It has quite turned my stomach."

T'Beth sat beside him and touched his hand. It felt unnaturally cool. "You must be freezing. Get into bed and I'll give you my blankets, too."

He stayed as he was and she stared at him, too horrified to say what she was thinking. Even if they _had_ subjected him to some vile experiment, there was not a thing she could do about it.

"Father." She fought to hold her voice steady. "Are there any strange marks on your body? Fresh bruises? Cuts?"

His left eyebrow rose and he flexed his shoulders gingerly. "None that I am aware of…aside from a few expertly applied whip lashes. I seem to be having some difficulty controlling the pain—probably an aftereffect of their anesthetic, which I suspect was a variety intended for use on large farm animals."

T'Beth bit back a curse. "Turn around, let me see," she said, and he compliantly moved so that she could examine his back. His shirt was torn. She winced in sympathy as she carefully lifted the material and took stock of several ugly-looking weals.

"Damn them!" she said hotly. "Why did they do this to you? Why?"

Father sighed. "Ja-rel, they have been trained in cruelty since birth. What is done, is done. But I would appreciate an application of that salve you were given last week to treat your kitchen burn."

Swallowing her outrage, T'Beth tended to her father's back. She knew that anger was counterproductive—a waste of energy that would be better spent on safeguarding their survival. But if she had her way, she would murder the next scaly-skinned sadist who dared lay a hand on either of them.

oooo

Spock had thought that his nausea was a transitory side-effect of the Donari anesthesia, but when it lingered for days afterward he began to consider other, more disturbing possibilities.

His joints began to bother him, and sometimes he woke at night with pain behind his eyes. Since boyhood he had been trained to sublimate physical discomfort, yet suddenly he could not even rid himself of a simple headache. It was as if he were slowly losing his grip on the Vulcan Mind Rules. When had a day's labor ever left him feeling so tired?

Tonight he dropped down on his pallet and picked at the unappetizing jumble of food in his dinner pail. As always, T'Beth had traded his serving of meat for most of her fruit and vegetables—a system that until now had worked well enough for both of them.

He could feel his daughter watching him. Fighting the ever-present nausea, he forced himself to chew a bite of the food and swallow. His stomach began aching. Setting the dinner aside, he lay down on his bed to think. Unknown to T'Beth, one of the Donaris from the laboratory now came regularly to the palace. Each time Spock was summoned to K-Kotle's private chamber, he received a physical examination while the overlord looked on. Spock had heard them speaking of "changes", but had no way of knowing if the anticipated changes would be the result of a disease or some other dreadful process the Donaris had set in motion. If he was suffering from a disease, why had he not been killed outright like other sick slaves? Did K-Kotle plan to use him in more propaganda films?

Spock was reviewing the more sinister possibilities when T'Beth came and stood over him. Her hazel eyes were large with worry.

"Father, you have to eat more. You have to try."

"I will try later," he told her. "Do not concern yourself. You know that Vulcans can survive for long periods with very little food."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But you don't look well. The Donaris will start to notice, and if they think you are unfit—"

Spock could think of no way to relieve her fears. He _was_ unfit and the Donaris were well aware of that fact. Whatever they chose to do about it, neither he nor T'Beth could prevent them.

Hesitantly she said, "Do…do you want to play a little Chinese Chess?"

"Not tonight," he replied, weary of feeling ill, weary of the look of alarm on his daughter's face.

He went to sleep quickly and did not awaken until the first light of morning. Opening his eyes, he found thick swatches of curly hair clinging to his pillow. For a moment he just stared at the mess, uncomprehending. _Where had it come from? Was this a dream?_

Raising a hand to his beard, he painlessly drew out a bunch of dark hair. Fascinated, he stared at it—then repeated the same bizarre process. A he realized this was no dream, his fascination turned to horror…

…A strange sound brought T'Beth bolt upright in bed. The fearful gasp—so shockingly human—could not possibly have come from her father. Groggy with sleep, she turned toward him. By the pale light of dawn she saw him leap to his feet and shake something dark from his hand.

Her heart jumped a beat. "What is it? A rat?"

Without answering, he rushed into the bathroom. There was a sound of retching.

Wide-awake now, T'Beth fumbled to turn on the lamp. From her bed she studied the dark thing Spock had let fall to the floor. It was _hair._ And there was more of it on his pillow.

Her stomach knotted and for a moment she thought she would throw up, too. Why had he not told her he was so ill? But of course she already knew the answer to that. He was Vulcan. There was no changing the way he operated, however close they had become. And perhaps, when it came right down to it, there was no changing herself, either. Before her conversion she had spent years using her Sy sexuality to get whatever she wanted; and now, in this desperate hour, her mind fell back into the old pattern.

While her father lingered in the bathroom, T'Beth devised a simple plan. She would go to K-Kotle. She would actively use her Sy energy to heat up the interest he had shown in her. The Donari's rough, scaly bodies were not very sensitive, their couplings swift and lacking in imagination. There was much she could teach him, ways in which she could made him yearn to dirty himself with a lowly mixed-breed slave.

After she seduced K-Kotle, she would convince him to spare her father's life and give him medical treatment—real treatment from a doctor who knew something about Vulcan physiology. Love for her father would carry her past any revulsion. She had done it before, among the Klingons. She could do it again.

The sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts. Spock emerged from the bathroom physically drained and beardless, but in control of himself. She was relieved to see that he had not lost any hair from his head.

As he sank onto his pallet she said shakily, "Maybe…it's just malnutrition. I'm going to K-Kotle. I think he might help if…if I approach him in the right way."

Father turned his head and looked at her. The first streak of desert sunshine cut across his face; his eyes narrowed as if the light pained him.

 _"No,"_ he said vehemently. "As your father—as your superior officer—I forbid it."

"You forbid it," she echoed and dropped her voice very low. "Well, don't you think he's going to notice that something's seriously wrong with you? How long are we supposed to wait here to be rescued? I won't stand by while you're culled out like a sick animal."

"If that were K-Kotle's intent," Father said, "he would likely have done so before now. He has been personally monitoring my condition for some time."

 _"What?"_ T'Beth rose to her feet.

"Be quiet," Spock ordered.

There was the clink of a lock deactivating, and the door swung open. Spock stood in deference to the slave keeper. The Donari's orange eyes swept the room and settled on the loose hair lying about. With a rush he drew back into the hallway, as if wanting to avoid contagion. The door slammed shut.

T'Beth turned to her father, heart pounding with the grim certainty that he would be killed before the day was over. Nothing he said could now sway her. Fully determined, she said, "I _will_ go to him."

oooo

Spock was relieved when the slave keeper later returned and took T'Beth from the room. Exhausted from illness and arguing, he remained on his pallet. He had appealed to her as her father; he had threatened her with a charge of insubordination—all to no avail. What more could he have said? The thought of what she was contemplating intensified his nausea.

The day brightened, bringing a glare that made his eyes throb. The skin on his face and neck started to itch. Before long, the discomfort spread to his arms and trunk, as well. Though his body yearned for a Vulcan healing trance, he dared not sink into unconsciousness here.

He scratched at a rough patch of skin on his wrist. Only yesterday he had noticed the lesion and dismissed is as a minor irritation from having his wrists bound. Now he saw that the area had thickened and turned gray. Suddenly it occurred to him that the overall tone of his skin had taken on a peculiar, unhealthy tinge.

Rising, he went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the old, cracked mirror that hung above the water spigot. He had passed beyond the first shock of shedding his beard. Now the newly revealed skin seemed to be developing patches similar to the one on his wrist. He tipped up his chin and found evidence of more lesions growing under his jaw.

His gaze shifted and he looked at his eyes in the mirror. Something unusual caught his attention. Leaning closer, he stared with dawning comprehension at the strange glints of orange.

oooo

All week T'Beth watched for a chance to break away from her assigned slave work and carry out her plan. It was midafternoon when she grabbed an armload of clean towels and hurried to K-Kotle's section of the palace. _Would he be there?_

Her hands trembled as she reached his bath and forced herself to enter unannounced. The overlord was not inside. Still carrying the towels—now a weak alibi, at best—she cracked open the door to his private bedchamber.

K-Kotle turned from what he was doing and looked at her.

"Towels," she said in Standard. He understood a little of the language.

He scrutinized her for a moment longer, then beckoned her inside. T'Beth's heart rose into her throat. Opening the door wide, she took a single step—and froze.

K-Kotle was not alone. The slave keeper stood near him, guarding a collared slave who was stripped to the waist. As T'Beth watched, K-Kotle turned and leisurely ran a taloned finger over the slave's bare chest.

The slave was Spock.

T'Beth met the fierce reproach in her father's eyes and went hot with shame. There was only one reason she had come here, and they both knew that it did not involve laundry. She had defied the authority of her commanding officer—her own father. She had taken the bit into her teeth and now she would have to bear the consequences.

K-Kotle ordered her nearer. Grabbing the towels, he tossed them aside and shoved her next to Spock. Grasping each of their wrists, K-Kotle compared the two, rotating their forearms any way that pleased him. T'Beth felt her father's silent wrath scalding her as she stared sidelong at his chest—so strangely hairless, the skin marred by ghastly-looking patches. _How long had it been like that?_

K-Kotle studied the lesions, making low growls of pleasure in his throat. A chilling behavior in light of everything that T'Beth knew of Donaris. Now there was no longer any doubt in her mind. K-Kotle was conducting experiments on her father.

The overlord dropped their wrists and turned his attention on T'Beth. Without warning, his hand darted out and lifted the front of her shirt. T'Beth's face blazed as the Donari leader ogled her exposed breasts. Silently she prayed that he would not touch her—not here, like this, with her father standing at her side.

Abruptly K-Kotle ordered the slave keeper to return Spock's shirt and remove him. He then dismissed T'Beth with a curt gesture. As her father covered himself, she quickly rearranged her own shirt. Inwardly wavering, she followed the others for a few steps before hesitating. _Perhaps, if she carried out her plan, K-Kotle could be persuaded to end the experiments. There might never be a better time to approach him…_

She was about to turn back when Spock grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out into the hallway. Before either she or the slave keeper could react, Father slapped her with a force that sent her reeling against a wall.

The slave keeper clicked loudly and unbuckled its whip.

Shaken, T'Beth staggered up, one hand outstretched. "No, don't!" she exclaimed in the Donari language. "Leave him alone!"

The slave keeper lowered the whip and stared at her, no doubt shocked to hear its language spoken so well by a wretched low-caste slave.

Father's eyes held no sign of gratitude for her intervention—only a stern, unspoken warning. _Stay away from K-Kotle!_

T'Beth's throat ached with tears as the slave keeper took him roughly by the leash and led him away.

oooo

Since Spock had been relieved of all work, there was ample time to review his behavior before T'Beth came to their room that night. He had never before struck his daughter, yet now he felt oddly justified in doing so. He only hoped that the un-Vulcan harshness had awakened something in her beside anger, for he did not have energy for another confrontation.

He was drowsing on his pallet when the slave keeper delivered T'Beth and locked them in for the night. Stiff and silent, she set his dinner pail beside him and retreated to her side of the room to eat. The scraping of her spoon mingled with a faint rumble of thunder from a distant storm.

Finally Spock said what was uppermost on his mind. "Did you go back to him?"

T'Beth's hand froze midway to her mouth. Turning him a cold shoulder, she took another bite.

With an effort Spock rose up on his mattress and looked at her. "I asked you a question."

Once more she stopped eating. As she turned to face him he noted the fresh bruise, along with a sullenness such as he had not observed in years.

"I would have," she hissed, "if I'd had the guts! But no—thanks to you, I missed my chance. If you'd just left me in there—if you'd just left me alone…" Her voice choked off and her jaw set with anger. "What's the use? It's too late now, anyway. It's too late for either of us."

"What do you mean, 'it is too late'?" he demanded.

She sighed impatiently. "Don't you realize what's going on? Can't you hear it? Sydok has launched an all-out offensive. We're under bombardment with interplanetary missiles."

Spock surprised himself with the speed at which he stood and rushed to the window. He should have realized that the flashes and rumbles were too intense to be caused by any storm. The warm breeze blowing in through the bars seemed to carry the scent of death and destruction.

He was barely able to force out the words. "What type of weaponry is being used?"

"I don't know," she answered in a cross tone. "What difference does it make? Either way, we're dead."

Spock turned from the window and cast her a disapproving look. "I assure you, it makes a very large difference. Radiation poisoning could bring about planetary-scale annihilation. Have you become so self-absorbed that you do not care?"

T'Beth leaped up from her pallet, furious. "Self-absorbed! Damn it, I've only been thinking of _you!"_

Spock met her outburst with a taut show of discipline. Very, very quietly he said, "You will lower your voice and behave like a Starfleet officer instead of an hysterical child."

"I… _am_ your child," she said through clenched teeth. "Or have you forgotten?"

He stopped himself from lecturing her and gazed out at the flashes. K-Kotle's palace would be a prime target. Why had it not already been hit? He knew it was fortified with some shielding, but there was no way of telling how long it could withstand a direct attack. Meanwhile, the possibility of radioactive fallout was a serious concern. Spock knew firsthand what radiation could do to a body. He had died quickly when he entered the reactor room and saved the Enterprise from destruction.

As he stood watching the distant explosions, T'Beth left her pallet and escaped into the bathroom. After a while Spock grew tired and lay down. In the past hour his fingers and toes had begun to tingle and lose sensitivity. Holding his hand up to the lamplight, he noticed without surprise that his fingernails had begun to thicken. The process of change was accelerating, and he knew from his indifferent reaction that he had not yet fully absorbed the impact of what was happening to him. Perhaps he simply lacked the strength to react normally.

Reaching over, he turned off the lamp and consulted his thoughts in the darkness.

oooo

A sudden tumult jarred T'Beth awake. Bright beams of light cut across her eyes. Scaly fingers pulled her from bed, swiftly bound her hands from behind, and propelled her and her father from the room. Pulse racing, she stumbled barefoot along dimly lit passages, to a service entrance. There was a brief delay as their monitor collars were deactivated. Then the silent soldiers hustled them out to a waiting transport.

T'Beth was settled beside Spock in a rear seat, and securely locked in. The truck left the palace compound and headed down the road, away from the ongoing destruction in the cities.

Her arm touched her father and she felt him shivering from sickness. She wished now that she had made the effort to talk out the trouble between them. This was no way to die—hurting, almost as distant as strangers—and it seemed certain that they would be dying tonight. Sy bombs, most likely. Unless, of course, their true identities had come to light and they were on their way to be tortured. The black thought filled her with a terror that set her teeth chattering. Breathing slowly and deeply, she wondered if Spock would devise an escape plan.

After a moment she turned and searched the darkness for her father's face. "There are only four of them," she whispered. "When we get out of the truck, you could create some kind of diversion. I'll take out as many as I can."

"And if they are from the People?" he questioned.

T'Beth scoffed at the idea. "I don't know about you, but my hands are tied pretty tight. Do you think it's because they like us?"

"It seems to me," he whispered, "that we have been treated with unusual restraint. And why all the trappings of secrecy? If they intend to harm us, they could have done so at the palace. We have seen slaves openly abused there, and even killed."

"And we've seen slaves shipped off and never returned. Where were _they_ taken? What happened to _them?"_

He was silent, and then said, "Perhaps you are right."

The words took T'Beth by surprise. _She_ was right? Since when? Maybe he was just feeling too sick to debate the issue—but would he follow her suggestion?

Suddenly the truck veered off the road and slammed on its brakes. The headlights blinked off. Soldiers threw open the doors and ordered T'Beth and her father out into the night. Warm sand swished under their bare feet as they walked away from the road.

"Now's our chance," she said low.

T'Beth watched and waited for Spock to distract the vigilant Donaris. They knew he was ill. All he had to do was stumble, but instead he kept moving.

"This is far enough," commanded the lead soldier.

T'Beth came to a halt with Spock close at her elbow. The Donaris leveled their disrupters at them and carefully backed away.

 _So this was the end of the line._ Furious, T'Beth turned on the still figure beside her. "Damn it! Why didn't you _do_ something?"

"A curse?" he calmly questioned. "I would have thought that a prayer was more in keeping with your philosophy."

She grit her teeth and looked at the Donari gun barrels glinting in the starlight. Random memories began to flash through her mind. She was a small child with her grandmother on Ildarani, a lonely rebellious teenager, a young woman only now beginning to live. _So short a life, yet so much to remember…God, she did not want to die!_

At her side Father stirred and quietly said, "T'Beth-kam…"

Then the captain of the squad issued a command and T'Beth felt a rending burst of energy sweep her consciousness away.

oooo

Even a disrupter set at full power had an unpleasant reputation for producing an agonizing death, yet Spock was strangely unafraid. He had experienced pain before, and death. And if he was about to die again, his only regret was for the family he would leave behind, and for T'Beth who was so very young. He would have liked to tell her that, and ask her not to judge him too harshly for disregarding her escape plan if it turned out that he had made the wrong decision. There had been so few facts on which to base his decision, that in the end he had actually resorted to… _guessing._

"T'Beth-kam," he said very low…

But then Spock saw the wash of energy enveloping him and his words were cut short. With a quirk of surprise he felt his consciousness begin to fade painlessly. _Could it be…?_

The single thought lingered, a pinpoint dancing on the razor edge of reality. Then a bright effervescence returned to thrust him, body and mind, upon a transporter stage.

Spock staggered slightly from weakness and disorientation before spotting a familiar human face at an equally familiar control panel. He felt a surge of relief as Montgomery Scott grinned at him broadly and spoke into the starship's intercom.

"We've got 'em, Captain—safe an' sound!"

Turning, Spock saw that his daughter was with him aboard the Enterprise. Then something inside him let go, and his legs started to collapse…


	5. The Inescapable

**5) The Inescapable**

Jim Kirk stood at Spock's bedside, shaken. _Safe and sound,_ Scotty had said. Well, the unconscious Vulcan did not look at all sound to him. An I.V. cuff pumping nourishment into Spock's limp arm had done nothing to relieve the weird pallor of his skin, or stem the spread of those terrible lesions taking over his entire body.

Kirk dragged his eyes from Spock and looked at his Chief Medical Officer. "Bones, what's wrong with him? Why isn't his healing trance working?"

McCoy let loose a long, deep sigh. "Because, Jim, he isn't really _sick."_

"What?" Kirk glanced at the Vulcan in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"I didn't say there's nothing wrong with him!" McCoy snapped. "Even his natural Vulcan defenses have figured out that much. But I tell you, he isn't sick—not from any virus or bacteria or fungus or parasites." Looking weary and frustrated, he shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm afraid it's much worse than that."

"Worse…?" Kirk echoed weakly.

McCoy pulled a tiny flashlight from a pocket on his medical smock and went to the head of the diagnostic bed. "Come here, Jim, I want to show you something."

Kirk followed on leaden legs. As he watched, McCoy drew back Spock's eyelids one at a time and shone his light on the Vulcan's eyes. It seemed to Kirk that the pupils contracted normally, but there was something distinctly odd about the irises. Each time the beam hit them, they gave off an orange-colored glow. Kirk knew that Vulcans had some kind of inner eyelid that protected them from strong light, but he had never seen Spock's eyes look anything but brown.

"What _is_ that?" he asked.

McCoy put away his flashlight and moved clear across the little room, near the door. Kirk followed. In a confidential tone the doctor said, "His DNA has undergone some kind of alteration."

Kirk stared at him, not at all sure that he wanted to understand.

"His basic genetic blueprint, Jim. It's been changed. They were trying to make him into some damn kind of Donari."

Kirk felt his stomach flip and grabbed McCoy by the arm. Though his voice barely rose above a whisper, he felt as if he were shouting. "Bones, are you telling me that he's mutating?"

McCoy's face crumpled. "Yes. That's it exactly."

A dozen angry thoughts screamed through Kirk's mind. _Why in hell had Spock gone to a death trap like Donari? Why had Starfleet sent him? Everyone knew what those creatures were capable of!_ On today's morning news he had heard Sarek decry Sydok's offensive against Donari. The Vulcan ambassador had joined his voice to others calling for an end to the bombardment. Kirk had a hard time understanding how Spock's father could take such a position, knowing that the Donaris had almost killed his granddaughter in combat. Would Sarek's thinking change when he found out what Donaris had done to his son?

At last he said, "You _can_ do something for him—can't you?"

McCoy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shook his head tiredly. "He's not like some control panel that you can crack open and rewire. And there's no telling if he can even survive these changes, let alone if they can be reversed. First I have to figure out exactly what they did to him."

"But that's just a simple matter of genetics, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true layman." McCoy continued very patiently, "Jim, the science of genetics has never been simple. Do you have any idea of the complexities that go into making any kind of organism? Even ordinary humanoids are very complex beings, and Spock is not ordinary. He's a _hybrid."_

Kirk waited until he could trust his voice. "But with time…"

McCoy's eyes sparked with anger. "I don't even know how much time he has. They should never have sent him down there with those savages!"

"Savages?" The sound of Spock's voice startled them, and they swung around. "Was it savages who arranged for us to be beamed aboard the Enterprise? And what of all those other Donaris who are steadfastly working toward a more peaceful world?"

Kirk smiled with relief. Even if his friend looked like death, at least he still sounded normal.

"You're awake." McCoy said, frowning. He pulled out a medscanner and passed it over the length of Spock's body. "Vulcans can't come out of a healing trance on their own."

Spock lifted an eyebrow—aside from eyelashes and the hair on his head, the only body hair left to him. "Well then, it would appear as if this new version of myself will have at least one benefit."

Kirk's smile faded. "Spock…exactly how much of our conversation did you overhear?"

"Vulcans in healing mode are aware of everything going on around them." Spock's orange-tinted eyes moved to McCoy. "Doctor, you should know that." McCoy shifted uncomfortably and looked aside. "Unless, of course," Spock divined, "you thought I was no longer Vulcan enough to hear you." McCoy's face took on an embarrassed flush. "Set your mind at ease. Your conversation held no surprises for me. I surmised what was happening when I detected the initial change in my eyes." After a pause, he changed the subject. "Were we exposed to radiation?"

"No," McCoy answered.

The Vulcan seemed relieved. "Then I assume that T'Beth is well?"

McCoy nodded. "There's nothing wrong with her beyond a bit of bruising and fatigue and malnourishment. Of course, psychologically, that's another matter—but right now let's talk about you."

Kirk reached out and touched the roughened skin on Spock's arm. "How are you feeling?"

"With less tactile sensitivity than before," the Vulcan replied, straight-faced.

Kirk managed a wan smile. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

McCoy huffed. "That's about as much of an answer as you're likely to get out of him." He turned the brunt of his irritation on Spock. "Well, you've asked about your daughter, but aren't you the least bit curious about how your wife is doing?"

The Vulcan's gaze locked with McCoy's. Kirk held his tongue and let Bones repeat the news that had been circulating through the ship all day.

"Yesterday in San Francisco a set of twins were born to Spock and Lauren S'chn T'gai of Starfleet. Mother and children are resting comfortably."

oooo

Shock was starting to set in. On Donari, the daily problem of survival had helped distract Spock from his deteriorating physical condition. It was different now that he and T'Beth were safely aboard the Enterprise. Now, after three days in sick bay; now, in the stillness of the shipboard night, he could not help but feel the horror of his situation bearing down on him.

All his life he had proudly conducted himself as a Vulcan, and more and more as the years passed, he was coming to terms with—and even learning to value—the human part that made him unique. Now all of that was changing.

Spock lifted the I.V. cuff from his arm, pulled down his pajama sleeve, and sat on the edge of the bed. The regular infusion of medication had eliminated the nausea, and he was back to eating normal portions of food. Switching on the bed light, he studied his hands. Each day the nails became thicker, more claw-like. His fingers were far less sensitive than normal and felt clumsy. The widespread lesions on his skin were forming into tiny scales and knitting together. While using the lavatory earlier this evening, he had noticed disturbing changes of an even more intimate nature. He felt like a stranger in his own body—a hideous, evolving _thing_ that scarcely resembled the man he had once been.

He could not go to Lauren like this. He could not go to his children like this. How could they accept him as a husband and father when even he no longer knew who he was?

Back on Earth, Lauren had accused him of entering into a dangerous mission to relieve job-related boredom, or even to escape the bitter truth about James' fatal condition. Perhaps in some measure she had been right. There _were_ times when he no longer found his duties at the academy very challenging, and the thought of James dying truly pained him. But he had to believe there was some finer motivation that made him take such a tremendous risk.

As his feelings intensified, Spock began to shudder. For the first time in his life he embraced the wrenching torrent without in the least trying to control it. Anger, fear, grief, despair.

 _Lauren…Aisha, my beloved, forgive me…_

 _Simon, my son. So much yet to learn…so many things I still needed to tell you…_

 _And newborn Teresa…_

 _And James…_

Pain built in his chest, but there was no relief for it. He had always detested the ease with which his emotions betrayed him with tears; yet now, when he longed for just such a release, when he actively sought it, his eyes remained dry.

Donaris could not weep.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he gave vent to a tortured sound unlike any he had ever made before.

oooo

T'Beth felt nervous as she entered Doctor McCoy's office and lowered herself into the chair he indicated. They had been buddies when she was young; no matter how bad things seemed, she had always felt like she could talk to him. And then came the incident at the Howard farm where Kirk grew up. She was sixteen back then, and McCoy had gotten the erroneous idea that Jim was sleeping with her. Furious, he had struck Jim so hard that it cracked the captain's jaw. _To hell with you,_ he had shouted, _to hell with the both of you!_ She would never forget how badly those words hurt. They had rankled for years, yet on the recent day when McCoy told her about Spock's genetic alteration, his kindly manner had put an end to the awkwardness. And now the look on McCoy's face had her worried.

Predictably he said, "We need to talk about your father."

T'Beth stiffened. "Has something more happened?"

"Not really. But it's come to my attention that you haven't visited him—not even once. Am I mistaken?"

Her gaze dropped and she rubbed at the chafed area on her neck left by the metallic slave collar. It was true. As many times as she went to her father's door, she kept turning back. She was ashamed of the way she had behaved toward him at the end. And she was afraid of what she might find if she walked into that room—scared stiff that her father would never be the same again.

"What if it's irreversible?" she said. "He only went on that mission because of me. That makes it my fault."

"T'Beth, what the Donaris did to Spock is their fault, not yours," McCoy gently reasoned. "You're just frightened, and that's normal—it's a frightening thing that's happened. But for your father's sake, you have to try and get beyond that feeling."

Her vision clouded with tears. Shielding her face with a hand, she fought for control. "I know I'm being childish," she choked out, "but this is what's going to happen if I go in there. I'll break down completely."

He went to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're not being childish—just human. Go ahead, it's alright to cry, let it out. In fact, I prescribe it."

The doctor's sympathy nearly put her over the edge, but somehow—perhaps through that Vulcan part of her that she seldom thought much about—she pushed aside her tears until later. Wiping her eyes, she looked up at McCoy. "What are his chances? What do you really think?"

McCoy straightened and took a moment to consider. "I honestly don't know, but I _can_ tell you one thing for certain. I'm going back to San Francisco with your father and I'm going to stay in charge of his case so they don't try and turn him into some kind of freaking medical sideshow."

T'Beth's heart warmed with gratitude. This was not the first time McCoy had stepped up to the plate to help her father. Rising, she put her arms around the doctor and he returned the embrace like an old friend.

oooo

It was hours before T'Beth felt steady enough to return to sick bay and enter the restricted area where Spock was staying. As she approached the treatment room, the door popped open and she narrowly avoided a collision with the captain of the Enterprise. They both stopped short.

Kirk cleared his throat and said, "He's asleep."

T'Beth nodded, her pulse racing. Tomorrow they would reach Earth. Maybe the ship would stay awhile, and maybe it wouldn't. Once the Enterprise warped out, it could be months before she saw Jim again. Or even years. The thought saddened her more than she would have believed possible. _Would she never get over this man?_

"Jim…" she began, but the words refused to come.

The captain's eyes narrowed and he gave a curt nod. Then without saying another word, he turned and continued on his way.

T'Beth shivered in the cool draft from his passage. A faint, familiar scent of men's cologne hung in the air. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped up to the door and touched the switch plate. The door slid open and she forced herself to go inside. The room was dark and cramped and depressing. But with the lights dimmed, Father could probably envision himself in one of the little caves that studded the mountains of Vulcan…or Donari.

Warily she approached Spock's bed. He lay flat on his back, his face lost in heavy shadow. Asleep? Meditating? Playing possum?

Then his head moved.

Adrenaline shot through her veins and her hands went clammy. She felt like a small, panicked girl caught in a nightmare, and the years were rolling back. _"Crista", her grandmother called to her in a voice ravaged by illness. On the bed, her dying figure moved. "Crista…"_

"T'Beth."

The voice—so thoroughly masculine and familiar—drew her back into the present. Something reached out and touched her wrist. It was, most certainly, not her father's hand.

She saw him reaching for the bed light and quickly averted her eyes, but not before glimpsing weird gray scales. A shaft of pain pierced her heart. Falling to her knees, she buried her face in the blanket and wept.

The light went off and he said, "There is no need for you to look at me. I understand."

Yes, perhaps he did, but she could not be so easy on herself. After all, this was still her father. Wasn't he?

Swallowing her sobs, she rose, turned on the light, and looked straight at him. His face swam before her, an indistinct blur of gray. Then she blinked the tears from her eyes and stared, open-mouthed with surprise. This was not the monster she had expected. There was still plenty of hair on his head, in dire need of a trim. His eyes—a rich shade of Donari orange—were something new, but unmistakably her father's eyes, deep-set beneath slanted Vulcan brows. Her gaze travelled over his skin—it amazed her. In the space of a few days, the ugly patches had spread and knit into a sleek, shiny covering that resembled a snake's belly. Captivated, she reached out and touched his cheek. It felt softer and more supple than a Donari's hide. She found herself saying, "Are…are you that way all over?"

T'Beth immediately regretted the words. What kind of thing was that to ask? This was not some biology project, yet the quirk of Spock's eyebrow told her that he was not offended—that, in fact, she had somehow said exactly the right thing.

"So," he declared, "there is something of the scientist in you, after all."

Encouraged, she took hold of his hand and openly studied it. She asked, "How does it feel to you?"

"As if I am wearing a glove that I cannot remove."

Once more, the pain surfaced. But no more tears, not now. If her father wanted the scientist, then that was what she would give him. Her questions tumbled out, forming a temporary barrier against the more difficult things left unsaid between them.

"What about your thought processes? Have you noticed any change? Can you meld? Do you still feel like a Vulcan inside?"

His lips parted, gray but free of scales, and very soft looking. "Some Vulcan abilities have undergone change, but my thought processes seem largely unaffected. I have not tried to meld."

T'Beth found it telling that he had not answered her very last question. He must really be struggling with his self-image. Sitting beside him on the bed, she gazed shamefaced at his mutated hand and said, "I'd promised myself that I would never hurt you again. Father, I owe you an apology—for my behavior toward you on Donari, and most of all…for _this."_

 _"This,"_ he firmly said, "is not your doing."

She could only shake her head. "What's going to happen now? What are you going to do when we reach Earth?"

"We will both undergo a thorough Intelligence debriefing."

She turned and met the orange glimmer of his eyes. "I'm talking about Lauren—your wife—and what you intend to do about _her."_

He clasped his hands on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. "As you said, she is my wife and therefore my concern."

"Now wait a minute," she said. "There are six of us in this family now."

His eyes darted to her face, and he did not look at all pleased. "I remind you that the Donari mission is still under a cloak of secrecy. Have you attempted to contact Lauren?"

"No. You're the one she's waiting to hear from. You're the one she needs." He closed his eyes and was silent for so long that she finally said, "Father. _Dad_ …listen to me."

No response. Never had there been such a stubborn, prideful man. T'Beth did not even try to keep the irritation from her voice. "You know, over the years I've felt a lot of different things for you, but even at our worst moments, I've never been tempted to pity. But I'm telling you right now, if you push your family away, I _will_ pity you—not for what you've become, but because you're using it as an excuse to shut out the very people who love and need you the most."

His eyes opened and there was no mistaking the anger in them.

T'Beth stood. "I'm not going to let you get away with this. I'm going to send off a message to Lauren right now. What you do after that is—"

 _"No!"_ his voice thundered. Spock rose from the bed with reptilian swiftness. "You will _not_ interfere!"

Startled, she backed a step. "I would hardly call it interference. After all, she's my stepmother."

His eyes narrowed to orange flame as he loomed over her.

Fighting a sense of intimidation, she said, "Maybe you'd like to hit me again. That would be the Donari thing to do."

For a moment she thought he might take her up on it, but his arms remained rigidly at his sides. In a fiercely controlled voice he said, "As senior officer, I will remind you yet again that we have not received clearance to release any information regarding our stay on Donari. Since my…condition…is a result of that stay, it is likely to remain a closely guarded secret for some time to come."

T'Beth had understood the need for tight security both before and during the mission, but what was to be gained by it now that they were safely off Donari? Would Starfleet really expect Spock to isolate himself from his own family?

"So," she said with a lift of her chin, "that's what you're hoping for, isn't it? You _want_ to hide behind Starfleet, don't you? And if I break security—if I go ahead and tell Lauren what's happened to you—I suppose you wouldn't hesitate to have me arrested."

His gaze did not waver. "Lieutenant, I advise you not to test me. You already committed one insubordinate act on Donari."

Choking on anger, she said, "And you, my dear Commodore, struck a fellow officer!"

Turning on her heel, she left him and paced the corridors until the worst of her anger dissipated.

oooo

McCoy meandered around his cabin, pausing now and then to pick some item out of a drawer, or off a shelf, and add it to the growing pile of belongings he would take with him when he beamed down. This leave from the Enterprise would be unlike any he had ever taken before. Normally when he stayed on Earth, the ship was up there in Spacedock waiting for him. It was going to be strange putting Chris Chapel in charge of his sickbay while he remained behind in San Francisco—not that he didn't have every confidence in her ability to handle the job. No, that was not the problem. The fact was, he felt as if he were leaving home. As much as he used to gripe about being drafted back into Starfleet, he had stayed on, and now this bucket of bolts _was_ his primary home. Dammit, he was going to miss her and its tight-knit crew—and yes, even Jim, now that they were getting along better.

Pouring himself a finger of bourbon, he swallowed it down in one gulp. Fortified by its soothing warmth, he briefly considered the monumental task ahead of him. What the hell was his patient's official name? McCoy had to grin. _Yosef ben Saban._ Who in tarnation thought up that one? Sounded like some weird kind of Vulcan rabbi. The junior medical staff, who weren't allowed anywhere Spock, had been atwitter with speculation.

But poor Chris—this must have been hard on her, standing by helpless as Spock mutated right before her eyes. It was no secret that Chapel was still sweet on the Vulcan. Thirty-odd years invested in a man who had no feelings for her and had ultimately married Chapel's younger colleague. Sometimes McCoy felt like giving her a nudge and telling her to get on with her life. But who was he to talk? After his romance with Nahfia Lonce ended tragically, he just could not get interested in anyone else. He was gazing at Nahfia's picture when the doorchime sounded. At his command the door opened, revealing a dark-haired lieutenant with troubled eyes. Seeing T'Beth in a Starfleet uniform still jarred him.

Hovering solemnly on the threshold, she asked, "May I come in?"

"Sure." McCoy waved her into the cabin and swept a couple of chairs free of clutter. "You'll have to excuse the way things look. I'm packing."

She scarcely glanced at the mess as she took a seat. Her eyes followed him to his chair. Then she said, "I saw my father."

"Good girl. I bet it wasn't half as awful as you thought it would be."

"No," she said tartly, "it wasn't. In some ways he hasn't changed at all. Tell me, why does he have to be so pigheaded? I only want to let Lauren know we're coming, even if we can't see her right away. I just want to let her know we're safe, but no—all he can talk about is security, as if that matters anymore. He's always so darn inflexible. Why, I bet he's never broken a regulation in his entire Starfleet career!"

McCoy tried to suppress a chuckle, and gave up.

She scowled at him. "It's not funny. You know exactly what I mean. He's always so prim and proper."

"Proper?" He broke into a full, devilish grin. There was nothing he loved better than tattling on his argumentative Vulcan friend. "Oh, I could tell you stories upon stories about that father of yours. There was the time he mutinied in order to take his former captain to a forbidden planet."

"I don't believe it," she said.

"Okay, try one a little closer to home. Remember when he first brought you aboard the old Enterprise? He kept you squirreled away for weeks. Do you think that's something regulations allow?"

Her frown deepened. "To tell you the truth, I never really thought much about it. But he probably found some choice bit of logic to justify his actions."

"As a matter of fact, he did. Ask him about it now, and he'll quote you some obscure precedent involving a 20th century aircraft carrier that took in an orphaned boy following World War II. The captain of the ship—I believe it was called the U.S.S. Point Cruz—later went on to command a fleet, and his flagship was named—you won't believe it— _the Enterprise."_ He shook his head in amusement. "I don't know where he digs up these stories, or for that matter, where he finds the time."

T'Beth's face was as somber as ever. "History is something of a hobby with him…as well as philosophy, languages, music, poetry, art—the list goes on and on. He's a regular galactic Renaissance man, only one little problem…"

"And that is?"

"The reason, Bones—the real reason why he doesn't want me getting hold of his wife. It's like you just said. Nothing could stop him if he really wanted to contact her, but he can't stand the thought of her seeing what's become of him."

It was no more than McCoy had expected, but even so, he sighed. Going to his store of liquor, he splashed a little more bourbon into his glass, then glanced over his shoulder. T'Beth was old enough; she could probably use some fortification. "Would you care for a drink? Or something sweet?" With her physiology, sugar worked as well as alcohol.

"Thanks," she said glumly, "but I'd better keep a clear head."

McCoy brought his drink back to his chair and stretched out his legs before saying, "T'Beth...I'm going to tell you something. You won't want to hear this, but in Spock's place I'd probably feel the same exact way."

She opened her mouth to object.

"Wait a minute," he cut in. "I'm not finished, not by a long shot." He glanced down at the liquor and took a sip before proceeding. "In Spock's place I'd feel the same way, but I'm _not_ in his place. I'm his doctor…and his friend…which gives me a very different perspective on all this. As his doctor, I know how much better a patient does when his family is right there giving him support. And as Spock's friend, I know how much he values and needs that family. I also happen to know Laurie well, and though I can't be 100 percent certain, I think she can take this kind of news better than getting no news at all." He took a breather and shrugged. "At any rate, I believe she has a right to know what's happened to her husband. What she decides to do with that information is her business."

T'Beth leaned forward with a hopeful look. "Then you agree with me? You think I should tell her?"

McCoy thought it over. Whatever he decided, it was bound to have grave repercussions—but friends and family had always meant more to him than any Starfleet regulation. And that, right there, held the answer.

He set down his glass decisively. "No, T'Beth, you won't do the telling. Before leaving on your mission, Spock asked me to keep in touch with Laurie and do whatever I could to keep her spirits up." He cocked an eyebrow. "Now, surely he would expect me to honor that promise. Don't you agree…?"


	6. The Non-Existent Man

**6) The Nonexistent Man**

It had not been an easy birth. Labor was so prolonged and agonizing that Lauren finally asked for pain relief. As she strained to deliver the first infant, she hemorrhaged dangerously. Her last memory was of Teresa's lusty cries. She had been unconscious when James entered the world in a great baptism of blood.

Now, five days after the ordeal, she drowsed in a hospital bed, bone-weary and depressed. The doctor had told her there would be no more children. That did not really bother her; the family was large enough. _Spock_ was the problem—gone four months and not a single word from him. She was beginning to wonder if he was ever coming back. And if he didn't? Tears welled from her eyes and wet her pillow. How could she raise even three healthy children alone? And James would be far from healthy…

Yesterday she had gone to the intensive care nursery to see her newborn son for the first time. Though the staff warned her that he would seem small, she had been unprepared for the sight of his tiny body in the incubator. So frail, so helpless, yet so beautiful. The moment she set eyes on him, she fell in love.

Gently wrapping him in a blanket, the nurse had placed him in Lauren's arms. Tenderly she smoothed his dark cap of hair and traced the Vulcan points on each perfectly formed little ear. They were shaped just like his father's and so were the eyebrows. He was like Spock in every way, expect for his blood—iron-based like hers—which made his sickly lips look blue. Lauren had forced a smile as she gazed into his gray-brown eyes. "We'll find a cure," she promised him. One helluva nerve when she could not even promise him a father.

Teresa was different. Strong and plump, she had the bald look common to babies whose hair would later grow in blonde. Her features resembled Lauren's, too—unmistakably human, right down to her rounded bits of ears. It felt strange cuddling a little girl, a daughter. Teresa nursed vigorously and then thrust Lauren away with surprising strength and purpose. Already she was raising her wobbly head while those grayish newborn eyes took in her surroundings with an alertness more in keeping with a Vulcan infant. Oh yes, that one was going to be off and running—and likely a little too independent for her own good. Perhaps more than any of them, she would need a father.

Back in the present, Lauren turned over and gazed out the window of her private room. The morning fog had given way to sunshine. It looked like a beautiful spring day. As soon as school was out, Simon would be on his way to the baseball field—that is, if his grandmother could cajole him out of _his_ blue mood. He had been upset about the twins ever since Lauren was first pregnant, and now that they were born, he was turning his brooding into a fine art. What was it he had said when he visited last night?

"Father missed the babies; he'll probably miss my birthday, too."

What could she tell him?

The sound of footsteps drew Lauren from her dark reverie. She rolled over, expecting to see a nurse. At her bedside she found a slim man in Starfleet uniform standing with his hands behind his back.

A shockwave of emotion rippled through her body. No, it was not her missing husband, but what a thrill of recognition! "Doctor McCoy!" she cried, rising off the pillow. "I thought—"

Her friend and former commander broke into a lazy smile. "Well, that's what you get for thinking." McCoy's right hand moved into view, holding a lovely bouquet of mixed flowers. "These, my dear lady, are from me. And these…" His left hand came forward with a floral arrangement of her favorite gardenias intermixed with ferns. "These are from the father of your children."

For a moment she saw only the second bouquet. Her heart brimmed with joy as she took the gardenias from McCoy and sniffed their sweet fragrance. "You've heard from him? And he's alright? Why hasn't he contacted me?"

Something in McCoy's expression cautioned her against speaking. "You cut your hair," he observed. "I like it. Nothing wrong with a little change."

Her hand went to the curls she had cropped short for convenience's sake. Her mind reeled with unspoken questions. Starfleet Medical Center was not the best place to be discussing military confidentialities, but she had to find out.

"Where is he?" she whispered.

McCoy leaned over as if to kiss her on the cheek. His words were very low, but very distinct. "Shhh. Somewhere safe." Straightening, he handed Lauren the other bouquet and nonchalantly spoke in an ordinary voice. "If you think those are nice, you should see the blooms at my place. When you get out of the hospital, you'll have to come over and take a look."

Lauren stared at him, her mouth dry. _Safe? Was that all he could tell her?_

"Don't worry now," he drawled, "there'll be plenty of chances for us to get togethah. I've taken on a project that will keep me dry-docked for quite a while. And now…" He drew up a chair and sat down. "I want to hear all about those new babies of yours."

oooo

It was not often done, but to maintain a maximum level of security, Spock was beamed directly from sickbay to the top security section of Starfleet Medical Center. He could not have been transferred more efficiently if he were a high risk prisoner. Following his arrival, he was meticulously debriefed and subjected to a tiresome battery of medical tests which Doctor McCoy assured him were necessary to back up the preliminary diagnosis. Although the Starfleet physicians made every effort to put Spock at ease, it was a relief when they finally left him.

Alone at last, he sat in a chair and assumed a meditative pose. As he worked to free himself of the day's stress, his mind kept turning toward Lauren. All week he had sensed her need for him. She had given birth early—a difficult birth—without the reassurance and support of his presence, without even a simple comnote to let her know that she was in his thoughts. _Had T'Beth gone to her?_

The void created by their separation demanded to be bridged. It would have been wise to suppress the urge. Instead, he deliberately reached toward her through the bond...and found her. _Ground floor, maternity section._

Abruptly he rose, went to a window, and looked at the city lights far below. His still-sensitive hearing picked up the faint sound of the room's security door disengaging. Collecting himself, he turned in time to see the door open.

T'Beth walked in. He had not seen her since their disagreement the previous evening, aboard the Enterprise. He made certain now that his Vulcan/Donari face did not betray how deeply that disagreement had affected him. As he looked at his daughter, he was painfully aware of the wall that had arisen between.

"Well," she said flippantly, "how do _you_ like being locked in here? Remember when you had me arrested? Oh, excuse me—I mean put into 'protective medical custody'."

"Yes," Spock said, "I remember." He had thought that particular matter had been satisfactorily resolved. But T'Beth had always been very human, and humans dug deep for ammunition when they engaged in a war of words. He asked, "Did you come to taunt me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, not entirely. I thought you'd be happy to know that I admitted to insubordination during my debriefing today. I'm sure _you_ told them all about it."

"I saw no need," he said.

She showed a fleeting surprise before her expression hardened once again. "And striking me? No need to mention that little detail, either?" When he failed to respond, she said, "I told them _everything_. And for your additional information, I was just down seeing the twins."

Spock kept himself under taut control. "And Lauren?"

T'Beth made no attempt to hide her disgust. "Is that all you care about? Tell me, were you this excited when I was born? Oh, silly question. You'd hightailed it out of there. If you were anywhere around, you probably would have tossed me in a disposal bin the way you did with my teddy bear that Christmas on Vulcan."

Spock's eyebrow quirked.

"Yes," she went on childishly, "I've know about the bear ever since we melded. Slipped right past you, didn't it?"

Spock drew in a deep breath. It had been a long time since his daughter had tried so hard to provoke him, and she was doing a good job of it. "What memories you saw, I permitted. My only error was in misjudging your level of maturity. To hell with the bear. If you have spoken to Lauren, tell me."

The abrupt words had a sobering effect. Very quietly she said, "I haven't seen her. I spent most of the time at the NCU, looking at James through the window. Something's wrong with him."

Spock was acutely aware of her watching for his reaction. He simply said, "I am not surprised. We were forewarned of some medical difficulties."

"What kind of difficulties? Why didn't you tell me?"

He touched his hands together and the odd, gloved feeling made him look down.

"What's wrong with James?" she demanded to know.

Choosing his words carefully, he raised his eyes to hers. "Early on there was some indication of organ dysfunction. The doctors will watch him closely."

T'Beth frowned. "Which organ?"

"His heart," Spock answered. Her face went so ashen that he did not mention the problems James was also having with his liver and kidneys.

"Maybe," she said in a hushed voice, "they'll need to clone him a replacement."

"Yes, cloning is commonplace," he replied with deliberate vagueness. "The doctors will know what to do."

Her eyes bored into him. "Ever the concerned father." Then she turned from him and walked out.

The encounter left Spock feeling drained. Though the process of genetic mutation seemed to have run its course, he had not yet shaken off the cloying fatigue that accompanied it. According to McCoy, he had experienced "a tremendous insult" to his system and could expect to feel unnaturally tired for some time to come. An apt choice of word, insult.

Spock gave in to the physical weakness and went to bed.

Sometime later he was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of a fussing infant. Doctor McCoy stood beside him holding a baby swaddled in a pink blanket.

Instantly wide-awake, Spock sat up in his hospital pajamas and asked, "Teresa?"

McCoy smiled and offered him the newborn. "Your boy's still in intensive care, but he's doing better. I figured there's no reason _this_ one can't see her daddy."

Spock held back.

"Go ahead," McCoy insisted. "She doesn't have any preconceived notions about what faces should look like."

Spock slowly reached out and took his daughter into his arms. She was considerably smaller than Simon had ever been. Though Spock had long since relaxed into the role of fatherhood, he felt awkward holding this tiny bit of femininity. Teresa grimaced and began to cry in earnest. Clenching her little fists, she arched her back as if trying to escape his touch. He had always been able to understand Simon's needs and calm him when no one else could. From the very beginning they had enjoyed a special bond, but try as he might, he was unable to quiet this one.

He felt uncomfortable with Doctor McCoy standing there, observing his failure. Finally he confessed, "I do not know what she wants."

"Of course not," McCoy said matter-of-factly, "she's female." He held out his hands. "Here, give her to me."

McCoy placed the infant against his shoulder and gently patted her back. Teresa gave forth a loud burp. Immediately she ceased crying.

The doctor laughed. "Thata girl," he said, and moved her to the crook of his arm. Teresa's smoky eyes found Spock's face and stared intently. "Thata girl, look at you daddy. Say 'hi'."

Spock crooked an eyebrow. "Really, Doctor. Surely you do not expect her to speak."

"Oh, she'll be speaking her mind soon enough. She's going to be a corker, this one. Just look at those eyes—already tracking. They don't miss much, do they?"

Spock studied her face. "She certainly favors Lauren."

"And James favors you, right down to the pointy ears."

Spock was silent a moment. Then he said, "I assume you have visited Lauren. Has she…spoken to you about me?"

McCoy handed the baby back before he answered. This time Teresa did not cry, but neither did she relax completely. She was too busy observing everything to settle down.

McCoy folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, I've seen Laurie. I kept in touch with her, like you asked. She spoke about you lots of times. She's been worried and angry, too—she felt like you let her down. But right now all she cares about is getting you back."

Spock lowered his eyes so McCoy would not see the pain in them. Stiffly he said, "The man that she knew as her husband no longer exists."

"Well, that's mighty interesting," McCoy drawled, "considerin' that today I gave her a sweet little bouquet of gardenias from the non-existent man."

"You did what?" Spock said with a sharp look.

"You heard," McCoy beamed. "You sent her favorite flowers."

"Of all the foolish, meddlesome…" Spock stood and faced the grinning human. With an infant in his arms, it was difficult to project a very stern image. Nevertheless, he tried. "Doctor, I see nothing at all humorous in what you have done. You have no right to toy with Lauren's emotions and offer her false hope."

McCoy's grin faded. "You're right, Spock, there isn't much humor in any of this. Here you are, in the very same hospital as your wife, and she hasn't a clue. Do you know what I think?"

"No," Spock retorted, "nor do I care to know. I remind you that you are here solely in a medical capacity. You will carry out your duties in a professional manner and maintain the silence commanded by your superior officers."

He expected McCoy to react with a show of temper. Instead, the doctor just looked at him mildly and said, "Spock, my friend, I'm worried about you—and I don't just mean your physical health. I'm worried about what these changes will mean to you and your entire family. I'm worried that you're going to shut yourself away somewhere and forget you ever _had_ a family."

Spock's gaze fell to the newborn daughter cradled in his arms. "That is not something I am likely to forget. Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but it would be best if you not intrude in my personal affairs."

"But Spock…"

Teresa squirmed and fussed anew in Spock's arms. Very gently he touched a scaled fingertip to her cheek. The silken texture of her skin was lost to him, but the infant felt his touch and turned toward the mutated finger, seeking it with her pink mouth.

Spock quickly moved his finger away and said, "She should be fed."

As he handed his daughter over, he found some consolation in knowing that Lauren would soon be holding her and gazing into this same small face. As for himself, he could not be sure when—or if—he would ever see either of them again.

He watched McCoy take Teresa to the door. "Thank you for bringing her," he said. "And Doctor, when you return her to Lauren you might suggest—strictly on your own behalf—that the baby's middle name be registered as 'Lauren'."

McCoy looked down at Teresa and smiled. "Teresa Lauren. Yes, I think I like it."

The sight of the security door closing brought a stab of loneliness. It would not have mattered if the room were left wide open—Spock had no intention of escaping. Moving back to the window, he stared out dry-eyed at the night, a prisoner in his Donari skin.

oooo

"Teresa Lauren." Simon frowned at his little sister as Lauren settled her into the cradle that occupied a corner of the living room. "I thought you were naming her Teresa Elizabeth, after Grandma Elizabeth."

Lauren sank tiredly onto the sofa. She was glad that her mother was upstairs and had not heard Simon's question. "I was only thinking about that name," she said carefully. "This way Grandmother Amanda won't get any hurt feelings—and besides, I think your father would like this one better."

At the mention of Spock, Simon's blue eyes latched onto her. "Father? How do you know he'd like it? Have you talked to him?"

Lauren drew him down beside her and brushed the dark curls off his forehead. "Honey, you know there's a security blackout."

His face clouded with such disappointment that she wished she could share the bittersweet hope McCoy's hospital visits had brought her. She made herself say, "Now go on and get ready for your game. Grandma has some errands to run; she'll drop you off at the field."

Her heart ached as she watched her son's love of baseball war against the dark feelings created by his father's absence. Today, of all days, he _must_ go. Lauren needed to get Simon and her mother out of the house before Doctor McCoy arrived. It was vital, McCoy had said, that they meet in complete privacy.

To her relief, Simon went upstairs and got into his uniform. She had the house to herself when McCoy rang the door chime. She quickly let him in. Wearing casual clothes, he meandered over to the cradle where Teresa was sleeping, and smiled down at her.

"How's Bright Eyes today?"

"The picture of health," Lauren said. "Now, if I can just get the rest of my family home."

McCoy straightened and looked at her, the remains of his smile tugging at his mouth. "Little James is adjusting well to his medication. Another week or so, and he'll be home."

Lauren gazed steadily into his eyes. "And Spock?" His smile faded. She heard the soft rustling of the baby blanket as Teresa stirred. "We're alone. You told me he's somewhere safe. He sent flowers. He even told you how he wanted the baby named. Now where is he? And where's T'Beth?"

McCoy grew uneasy. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…"

"Come _on,"_ she urged, totally frustrated. "Don't back down on me now."

McCoy lowered himself into a chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked old and tired and unsure of himself.

"Leonard," she pleaded.

He stared at the cradle. "I want to do the right thing. Dammit, I thought I knew what it was."

Lauren went over beside his chair. Bending down, she gripped the armrest and waited for him to meet her eyes. Then she said, "You'd be breaking security—I know that. But you can trust me. I won't go off half-cocked. Whatever you tell me will stay strictly between the two of us." She swallowed a sudden thickness in her throat. "I've been listening to the news about Donari. They were there, weren't they? They were caught in the bombardment. Something terrible has happened to them—hasn't it?"

McCoy's silence stretched until she thought she would scream. Then some of the tension seemed to leave his body, as if he had come to a decision that did not quite satisfy him.

"Alright," he said, "I'll tell you."

oooo

Music drifted over the high stone wall that enclosed Doctor McCoy's back garden. The neighbors were having a party—not boisterous by human standards, but to Spock every little sound was clear and distinct. Conversations, bursts of laughter, ice dropping into beverage glasses. The adults were consuming alcoholic drinks. The children had lemonade and took turns running through a lawn sprinkler to relieve the afternoon heat.

The sound of their play drew Spock. Listening to them, he could not help but think of Simon and the twins…and Lauren. It was difficult knowing that his family lived only a few minutes away. Cleared by Starfleet, T'Beth had made contact with Lauren and moved back into her old room. She did not often visit Spock, and when she did, their conversations were less than agreeable.

He spent most of his time alone. There were days when McCoy did not return from Starfleet Medical Center until well after dark. On those occasions the doctor might be tired and short-tempered, or perhaps elated by the prospect of some new medical insight into Spock's condition. But thus far the treatments proposed by Starfleet's genetic experts had not shown any success.

Spock heard a sizzling sound. A cloud of smoke drifted over the wall, carrying with it the scent of grilling meat. His body reacted with an instinctive jolt of hunger that he found difficult to curb. Scarcely a day went by that he was not forcefully reminded that the Donaris were a carnivorous people. Just as forcefully, he reminded himself that despite outward appearances he was still a Vulcan—born and bred to the Vulcan philosophy that forbade the eating of animal flesh.

Turning his mind from the aroma of beefsteak, he went indoors, to the bedroom Doctor McCoy had provided for him. Its large windows overlooked the garden he had just left. Near the bed was a clear view of the lavender rose he had given McCoy a few years ago, grown large now and blooming profusely.

After adjusting his space heater, he went to a sunny corner of the room where an old cherry wood desk was outfitted with a computer terminal. As he sat, the earth jolted with one of the small tremors common to California's West Coast. With his career on hold, he had been investing more time in a project that had long interested him—improving earthquake warning systems. Recently he had also found entry into Lauren's home biocomputer and took some pleasure in following the progress of her medical research. But for now he would engage in another of his favored pastimes: exploring the Federation News Net. On a major site, his father was featured in connection with the continuing Sy-Don conflict. Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan presented an imposing figure as he argued eloquently for peace in the beleaguered region.

The scene changed to a bearded Sydok in flowing robes who spoke just as powerfully for the cause of war. Jondar Jo-Ree had long been a minor player in Sy politics, but recently he had risen to great power in Sydok's Parliament. It was said that only Prince Ba-Rokesh stood over him, and the prince was not well.

Again, the scene shifted. Donari news footage had been monitored by a Sydok vessel. Grim images of death and destruction filled Spock's screen. K-Kotle's palace fortress had been targeted. Its protective shields collapsed and the structure lay in ruins.

A light tapping on Spock's door drew his attention from the report.

"Come in, T'Beth," he said.

She entered, and her eyes passed from him to the news program. The tightness forming around her mouth warned that this was not likely to be a pleasant visit.

"Too bad K-Kotle wasn't in it!" she snapped.

Spock made no comment.

Abruptly she said, "Do you hate him?"

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"For what he did to you," she elaborated. "Are you rooting for the Sydoks? Are you hoping they blow the Donaris clean out of existence?"

Genuinely shocked, Spock stared at her. "If I am 'rooting' for anything, it is for the cause of a just and lasting peace."

"Oh, come on," she said with open skepticism. "You're practically glued to that screen every day. You can't tell me that deep down you aren't just waiting and watching for K-Kotle to get his."

Despite T'Beth's heavy use of slang, Spock grasped her meaning well enough. It saddened him to see the old bitterness back in his daughter's heart, yet he could understand it. He also fought a daily battle against negative emotions.

T'Beth dropped to one knee beside him. "Father, you're letting him win, don't you see that? Every day you keep apart from your family is like another victory for K-Kotle."

Spock looked into his daughter's troubled eyes. "You speak as if I am in some kind of personal contest with the Donari overlord. That is not how I view the situation."

She put her hand on his knee. "Tell me something. What would you do if tomorrow I sprouted antennae and my skin turned as blue as an Andorian's? Would you deny I was your daughter? Would you reject me?"

Spock repressed a sigh. He knew precisely where her question was leading, and he had no wish to discuss it. Had he not repeatedly told her that he would—for now—abide by Starfleet's security restrictions? It was senseless for him to consider a future when he could not even predict what form his body might take tomorrow.

"Do you really think," she persisted, "that Lauren's feelings for you have anything to do with the color of your eyes and the texture of your skin?"

Her question hung unanswered.

Spock heard a special report break into the news. Curious, he checked the screen. A reporter spoke with enthusiasm. There had been tentative confirmation of a revolution sweeping the face of Donari. K-Kotle and other key overlords were said to have been toppled from power. A representative of the new leadership was calling for an immediate ceasefire.

T'Beth rose to her feet and stared at the screen. "The People…!"

Spock experienced a surge of excitement. For the first time in a long while, he felt alive, truly alive. Pointing a taloned finger at the screen, he said, "This, T'Beth—this is what I have been watching for."

oooo

It was just too terrible to be true. At first, Lauren had not wanted to believe McCoy. Spock transformed by the Donari into some weird, mutated creature? But then she saw his photographic image—shimmery of skin and orange of eye, yet so achingly familiar that she had been unable to hold back the tears. Since then McCoy gave her regular reports, but the time had come when she needed more than updates and photos and kindly reassurances.

She had promised the doctor that she would not do anything to jeopardize his position of authority on Spock's case. There was no one she would rather have in charge, but she was determined to pay a visit on her husband. In the hospital McCoy had used veiled language to invite her; something about his flower garden. Well, the time had come for her to see those flowers of his, and Lauren started by approaching T'Beth. Spock's daughter was relieved to find out that Lauren knew. She openly railed against Starfleet's secrecy and offered to help her.

The plan was simple. The very next morning, they waited until McCoy left the house. The door lock was set to admit T'Beth. She had only to disengage it after passing through, and then lure Spock into the backyard.

Unnoticed, Lauren slipped inside. Her stomach knotted with apprehension as she made her way to the room she had been told Spock was using. Oh, yes. One glance at the tidy, utilitarian bedroom told her that it belonged to him. Clearly he had arranged it to his liking. Steeling herself, she sneaked up to a window. Through the branches of a rose bush she spied him—tall and slender in warm clothes, hair grown down over his neck. From the rear he looked perfectly normal. Then T'Beth moved in a way that compelled him to turn. From this distance his fine facial scales looked like gray-toned skin. Even his eyes seemed to have changed very little.

A thrill swept through Lauren at the sight of him. Simultaneously Spock tilted his head in a receptive attitude, and as he glanced her way, she quickly drew back from window. He had felt her presence! Their bond was still intact! And now that she had experienced its wondrous tug, there was no way on God's green earth that she would leave without holding him to every promise that Vulcan link signified.

Once more she peeked out the window. Spock and T'Beth were locked in a heated disagreement. Lauren watched as he jabbed a taloned finger in his daughter's direction, and she could well imagine his words.

T'Beth shook her head stubbornly, as if refusing to obey him. Lauren sensed the desperate, raw surge of panic taking hold of Spock as he realized he was trapped. For an instant she stood frozen with indecision. Then she raced to the back door and entered the yard. Glimpsing her, Spock turned and ran straight for the back wall. She had no doubt that he would have clawed his way over the top, but suddenly he stopped—stopped cold—as if abruptly realizing the futility of trying to flee the inescapable.

T'Beth came over to Lauren in deep distress. "What have I done?" she anguished. "My God, what have I done to this family?"

Lauren caught the shaken girl in her arms and hugged her as she had never hugged T'Beth in her life. "It'll be alright," Lauren promised. "Just leave me alone with him, you'll see."

If only she felt as confident as her words sounded.

She watched T'Beth go into the house, then turned toward Spock. He stood with his back to her, partially hidden by shrubbery in a corner of McCoy's garden. Her heart hammering, she approached him, matching the crush marks his shoes had left in the low groundcover. Just out of reach, she halted. He was breathing heavily. His face was averted, his arms crossed, his hands tucked well out of sight.

"Spock," she said softly. A shudder passed through his body. Instinctively she began reaching out to him, then stopped and let her hand fall slowly to her side.

"You should not have come," he spoke in a hoarse, tortured voice.

"But I have."

"I don't want you to see me—not as I am now."

"I know," Lauren said. "But you are a part of me…and I'm part of you."

He shook his head angrily. "McCoy and T'Beth arranged this!"

"Don't blame the doctor. He's never done anything but help you. He doesn't even know that I'm here."

"Then leave," Spock demanded. "Leave now—if not for my sake, then for his. There will be trouble."

Lauren seemed to feel his bitter pain in her own body. Stepping closer, she grasped his clothed arm. Beneath her fingers his muscles stiffened to granite, but she refused to let go. "I can't believe that you really want me to leave. Spock, think if I were blind. Would these changes in you matter then? I'd rather be blind than live without you for another day."

"That is a foolish thing to say," he declared.

"Is the truth ever foolish?"

He gave no answer.

"I _love_ you," she said, "and I'm not leaving this spot until you let me look into your eyes."

They stood locked in a silent battle of wills. Then logic won out, as Lauren had hoped it would. Turning, Spock showed himself.

She was stunned—not by the appearance of his face, for she had been thoroughly forewarned about that. Rather, it was the fact that he was so little changed. One look from those deep-set eyes could still tear her heart to shreds.

Fleetingly, he took in her shortened hair. Then his terrible gaze joined once more with hers, and Lauren felt a deep, encroaching shame for having forced this reunion on him when he was not mentally or emotionally prepared for it.

His voice grated as he asked her, "Is it only my eyes that you wish to see?"

He uncrossed his arms and held up his hands for her to inspect. The thick claws seemed even more bestial than in the photos. Her jaw dropped in dismay.

"Repulsive, yes," he said, "and there is still more that I will never allow you to see." At that, he strode past her and went into the house.

Alone, Lauren sank to the ground and lowered her head into her hands. This was going to be even harder than she had imagined. These changes had affected more than cosmetic appearances; they had apparently struck at the very foundation of Spock's manhood—something that Vulcan males, for all their logic, took every bit as seriously as men everywhere.

Marital intimacy had always been an important part of their relationship. It had been four months since they last made love. Lauren needed that physical side of marriage too much to let her husband withdraw from it—from _her—_ without a fight. Surely if Spock was built like a Donari, he could also function as one.

And if he couldn't? Then she would accept whatever he was able to give.

At last she rose and went inside. It surprised her that Spock's bedroom was unlocked. She found him seated at a computer in the overheated room, monitoring a news broadcast. Closing the door, she walked over to him.

He ignored her.

"I don't find you repulsive," she said loud enough to be heard over the program. "I want you to come home."

"You want the Spock who was your husband," he responded without looking at her. "I am not that man."

"And I'm not the same woman."

He swung around and beheld her with open skepticism. "Because of a different hairstyle?"

"No," she shot back angrily. "Because I can't have any more children!"

His eyes widened.

"Things…went wrong," she said thickly. "So that takes care of your reproductive concerns. No matter what we've become, we are still bondmates…and as such I have a rightful claim on you."

"Out of the question. Starfleet security demands that—"

"To blazes with security!" Reaching out, she turned off the computer and said, "Your children. Have you forgotten them? They need their father."

Spock had a ready answer. "This is not the face of the father Simon remembers."

Lauren studied his features. The orange tone of his eyes reminded her of autumn leaves. Light from the windows played over the smooth, interlocking scales of his facial skin. It looked cool and lizard-like, yet now, as she reached out and touched his cheek, it felt warm. She said, "You're not really so different. In time he'll grow to love this face. I already do."

Wordlessly he turned to the computer and switched it on. Lauren could feel him pulling further and further away. She could feel him withdrawing to the painful distance he had kept in the days following fal-tor-pan, before he acknowledged his feelings for her.

How could it be? Years ago, when she left him in the wake of pon farr, she had later worked hard to pull their marriage back together. Now here she was, trying to hold onto him again. Sometimes she hated the Vulcan upbringing that made ordinary human relationships so hard for him.

The sound of Sarek's voice drew her attention to the news. Her father-in-law was commenting on the tenuous cease-fire between Sydok and Donari. Sarek called on the Sy leaders to attend the peace conference being proposed by the new government of Donari. Next, the inflammatory Jondar Jo-Ree came onscreen and denounced the proposal as a trap set to lure the leaders of Sydok to their deaths.

With sudden intuition, Lauren realized, "This peace movement on Donari is genuine, isn't it? That's what you were working on when all this happened."

His eyes rose up and cautioned her. "You had better silence your opinions and leave before some zealous security agent places you under arrest. Your very presence here would be cause enough. Think of the children."

Did he realize how much those words showed that he cared for her? For all of them? "Before you left," she said, "I was so sure you were being selfish. I was so afraid of losing you…" She swallowed hard. "Alright, I'll leave now. But one way or another, I'll be back."


	7. Promises

**7) Promises**

Dinner was long over when T'Beth crept home, but considering the way her stomach felt, she could not have eaten, anyway. Aside from the somber tones of Simon's violin, the house was utterly quiet.

She saw a light in the kitchen and found Lauren bathing James at the sink. Her new brother lay fully alert in the baby tub as Lauren rinsed his little body.

Lauren paused and cast her a glance. "Feeling better?"

T'Beth shrugged. "I can just imagine how it went between you and Father." The look on Lauren's face was not reassuring. She hoisted herself onto the counter and let her legs dangle. "Well, I have some good news, for what it's worth. After I left McCoy's house, Headquarters called me in. They've decided to lift the lid on the Donari mission, now that the revolution is over."

Lauren went stock-still. Then quickly wrapping James in a soft, dry towel, she held him against her shoulder. "Okay now, tell me everything," she insisted. "You and Spock left Earth, and then..."

They sat together at the kitchen table, talking undisturbed for over an hour.

"I suppose I should feel happy," T'Beth said as she finished the tale. "At least peace has a chance there now—but at what price?"

"You're not responsible for what they did to your father," Lauren comforted her.

How many times had T'Beth heard it before? Yet her heart kept telling her a different story.

Lauren said, "I can't believe that Spock would blame you, either. I know how much he wanted to go on that mission."

"I blame myself," T'Beth told her. "And after the way I double-crossed him today, he'll probably disown me." She glanced up and found her stepmother looking kind and sympathetic.

"Don't worry," Lauren said. "I'll let him know that the whole thing was my idea. You two have been through so much together. Just give him a little time; he'll get over it."

"Will he?" T'Beth wondered. Would any of them ever get over it? This family had given her the sense of belonging for which she hungered, and now—thanks to her—it was all down the drain like the baby's bathwater.

Little James was waking up. Pushing at the towel, he began to fuss. As Lauren tended to him, T'Beth left the table and went outside. After dark, a moist hint of fog had drifted in from the ocean. She walked down the driveway and wandered aimlessly along the street. She felt so lost and alone. Aboard the Enterprise, she had let slip her chance to smooth things over with Jim Kirk. Now he was back in Space. Every time her friends called, she kept putting them off, too. _Yes, well, I know it's been awhile, but you see I've been kind of busy…_

Liar. The truth was, she did not want to see any of them, not when she felt like this—shaken, hurting, and unsure of herself. Sometimes she felt more like fourteen than twenty-four. Stopping near a street light, she gazed up at the silver disk of the moon shimmering coldly through the haze.

"Why?" she cried aloud to the heavens. "Why did you take away my father? You should have taken my legs, instead!"

The sounds of night answered her; crickets, a neighbor's dog barking, the hum of a groundcar gliding along the road.

Suddenly a boyish voice spoke nearby. "T'Beth?"

She turned to find her young brother standing there on the sidewalk without even a sweater. "Simon, what are you doing out here?"

"I saw you leave. I climbed down the trellis by Father's balcony."

T'Beth's heart gave a jump. "That's a fifteen foot drop! You could have broken your neck—don't ever do that again!"

Simon stepped closer and gazed wide-eyed at her face. "Have you been crying? I've never seen you cry before. Is it because you miss Father?"

Hugging him close, she admitted, "I sure do."

"He'll be back," Simon said with a shiver. "He promised. He said he'd bring me a special present for my birthday."

 _Simon's birthday!_ How could she have forgotten? "You'll be seven this Saturday, won't you?"

He drew away and now there were tears in his eyes. "He's not going to make it back in time, is he?"

T'Beth felt a tightness in her own throat again. "It's okay, Simon. We'll make it a special day, anyway. Just tell me what you'd like to do. Anything."

His face brightened with the resiliency of youth. "Anything?"

As he mulled over the possibilities, she took him by the hand and they walked back to the house together.

After having spent the previous day at the hospital, Spock was back in Doctor McCoy's house. He had received yet another experimental treatment to stimulate his native genetic material and was experiencing an increase of fatigue. His body no longer adjusted to inconveniences as easily as it once had. The constant craving for meat made him wonder if that mainstay of Donari fare would increase his strength, as McCoy suggested. Was it logical to cling to a vegetarian diet if it was detrimental to his health? Sitting at his desk, Spock pondered the question. He was glad for anything to occupy his mind, on this of all days.

Finally he looked up the news. Sarek had arrived on Sydok as part of the delegation of Federation representatives who would help lay the framework for the upcoming Peace Summit. As a gesture of good will, the Donaris had begun releasing shiploads of "breeding stock" and other slaves, most of whom were at least partly Sy. Predictably, Jondar Jo-Ree distrusted the move. He denounced the shipments as a clever attempt to nurture Sy complacency and overburden their war-torn economy with the uneducated, destitute products of Donari atrocities. As he put it, "The Donaris could not defeat us from without, so now they will try to defeat us from within." Despite the Federation's promise of resettlement aid, Jo-Ree was calling on Sydok's royal family to allow entry only to those who could prove citizenship.

After centuries of suffering and ill-will, peace would not come easily to the region. It was unfortunate that someone with Jo-Ree's leanings had reached a position of such influence at this crucial time.

Spock ordered onscreen the background study he had been compiling on the inflammatory Sy leader. Jondar Jo-Ree had been a minor—though colorful—politician on his home world for nearly fifty years. There was little information available regarding his earlier life.

Spock studied Jo-Ree's three dimensional image as it slowly rotated on the monitor. Age had turned the full beard and mane of Sy-blond hair to silver, but something in the amber eyes put Spock in mind of T'Beth's mother. So determined, so full of unspoken pain…

Spock had to wonder if someone dear to Jo-Ree had been killed or captured by the Donaris. Out of curiosity he called up the Sy casualty lists dating back eighty years, and began scrolling. There were many Sydoks named Jo-Ree; apparently the surname was quite common.

"Stop," he said suddenly. One eyebrow rose as he read. _Jo-Ree, Jondar. Captured 35 Agtar 5773. Liberated 04 Sarr 5773._

A swift calculation placed Jo-Ree's brief captivity in the period immediately preceding his entry into politics. That would explain much.

Spock heard the door open behind him and lifted his eyes from his research. Even before looking, he knew it was Lauren. She came up beside his chair, and placing a hand on his shoulder, glanced at the computer screen.

"Light reading?" she asked dryly.

He shut down the display and stared at the blank monitor. "I did not expect you here today."

"Then you remember," she said.

He sighed. "I would not likely forget our son's birthday."

Lauren removed her hand. Perching beside the computer, she gazed at him fondly. Though Spock was still keenly aware of his appearance, Lauren acted as if he was completely normal. Now that the security restrictions had been lifted, she visited daily. Their discussions were not always amiable, but they never failed to be diverting.

"I have a wonderful surprise for you," she said unexpectedly.

Spock gave her a sharp look. "You did _not_ bring Simon here."

She laughed. "No, silly. T'Beth's taken him off on some wild adventure—and that's exactly what I'm going to do with you."

Spock's suspicion deepened as she hopped off the desk and fetched a hooded Vulcan robe she had brought from home.

"Put this over your clothes," she ordered, "and draw up the hood. I'm taking you to see the twins."

He stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Come _on,"_ she urged, "we don't have all day. One short visit and I'll bring you right back, I swear it." She made a crossing motion over her heart. "Vulcan's honor."

Spock felt his resistance weakening. Lauren knew exactly how charming he found this rare, impulsive side of her. It did him good to see the pleasure shining in her eyes, and until now he had only viewed little James in video feeds.

Rising up, he put on the robe and followed her.

As Lauren drove the groundcar across town, there was ample time for him to reconsider his hasty decision. What if this was just another humiliating plan to trick him—this time, into attending Simon's birthday celebration? Would Lauren risk psychologically harming their son by forcing a reunion? She badly wanted Spock to move back home.

"You are certain," he said, "that Simon will not be there."

"He's with T'Beth," she repeated.

Hardly a denial, so he pressed on. "And T'Beth—where will she be?"

Lauren's eyes left the road and glanced at him. "Not in the same house with you, I can guarantee. She's eaten up with guilt about the way things have gone. And frankly, I don't see where you've done much to help her."

 _"I?"_ Spock looked out at her from the depths of his hood.

"Yes, my dear—you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how she's disappeared from your life. I don't know what you said to her that day in the backyard, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Just a single word from you would go a long way to making her feel better."

Spock did not fully understand. "Lauren, there was no camel in Doctor McCoy's backyard. As for T'Beth's guilt feelings, are they not a natural consequence of deceitful behavior?"

With a sigh Lauren turned the wheel and they were gliding up their driveway. She parked in front of the house.

"Wait here a minute," she said. "Mom's back in New York, but I have Auntie Sakata with the twins. Don't worry, I'll get her out of the way."

Spock gazed through the car windows at his home. When last he saw it, the grounds had been locked in the dead of winter. Now the nurturing hand of Mr. Sakata was evident in every leaf and bloom. He had not yet been inside, and already he longed to stay.

Lauren appeared in the doorway and beckoned to him. Pulling his cowl all the way forward, he tucked his hands into his sleeves and went up the steps. At the threshold, he hesitated.

Lauren drew a scaled hand out of his robe. Holding it, she looked into his eyes and softly urged, _"Trust_ me."

Spock allowed his wife to lead him inside, to the rooms he now visited only in his better dreams. How familiar everything looked. Even the smell of the house evoked pleasing memories.

The cat rose from the sofa and came meandering toward him. Suddenly Mosha froze. Bristling, she spat and hopped sideways before scrambling down the hallway.

Spock was not reassured. Glancing about, he asked, "Where is Mrs. Sakata?"

"Upstairs. I told her I was entertaining the Romulan Praetor and he demands complete privacy."

Spock studied her face but was unable to determine if she meant her words to be taken seriously. His gaze shifted to something new in a corner of the living room. It was the old piano from the beach house.

"A surprise for you," Lauren said sadly. "After you left on the mission, I had it brought here…so you could play it whenever you wanted."

They both knew his mutated fingers were too clumsy to play it.

"Come on," she said.

They went into the downstairs nursery. When the door was shut, he pulled back his hood and approached Simon's old crib. Two babies lay sleeping on a soft flannel sheet. Teresa had grown and changed since Spock held her in the hospital. She had lost the look of a newborn, and pale downy hair sprouted from her scalp.

Spock turned his attention to James. He looked small and pale beside his sister; more like a waxen doll than a flesh and blood child. Lauren carefully picked him up and handed him over. The weight and warmth of James' body was somewhat reassuring, but the fatal pall of Vash-Lester hung over him. Pain twisted in Spock's heart as he studied the straight dark hair, the tiny Vulcanoid ears, the wise little face. James briefly opened his brownish eyes and gave him an untroubled look.

Lauren smiled. "See? You don't scare him a bit."

Spock felt an instant kinship with this child who was destined to know so much suffering. He hoped there would be some pleasures to offset it.

"Is he always so quiet?" Spock asked.

"Most of the time…and it worried me at first. I was afraid there might be some neurological damage, but all his scans read normal so I guess it's just the Vulcan in him."

She leaned down and kissed James on the forehead. Then without warning she rose up and briefly kissed Spock on the mouth.

"Your lips feel the same," she said, fingering them.

Her hand drifted over the less sensitive "hide" of his cheek, then splayed into his hair. Silently her eyes invited him to join in the full play of her thoughts and emotions. But Spock's mind was not on a meld. He was experiencing a physical reaction so pleasurable and startling that he gasped. He did not know how to stop it, or even if he wanted to.

Settling James into the crib, he began to reach for Lauren.

A noise broke into his awareness.

The nursery door sprang open and Simon's voice rang out. "Father!"

Spock jerked up his hood and turned aside, but not before glimpsing Simon and T'Beth. _So it was, after all, only a trap._ He had been on the verge of trusting Lauren completely, of offering her all that remained to him. Now he would never be able to trust her again.

Beside him, Lauren seemed to have second thoughts about her plan. "Uh…no, Simon," she stammered, much to Spock's relief, "but the robe does look just like your father's, doesn't it?"

"Mister," Simon asked in a hushed tone, "are you a Donari?"

Realizing that one of his hands was in plain sight, Spock immediately tucked it into his sleeve.

"The Donaris have four fingers," he heard T'Beth say, "not five. Sorry, Lauren," she added in a convincing lie of her own. "I didn't know you had company. I had to bring the birthday boy back early. He overdosed on ice cream and roller coasters."

"Oh, you two," Lauren pretended to reproach them. "Well, go on upstairs. I have to take my guest home, but I'll be right back."

"If you want, I'll take him," T'Beth offered.

Lauren met the hardness in Spock's eyes and said, "Thanks, but I'll do it. Help Auntie keep an eye on the babies. She's in your father's study, reading."

Simon and T'Beth closed the nursery door and went upstairs.

Lauren sagged against the crib. "Whew, that was close!"

Rigid with anger, Spock confronted her. "What you have done here today is abominable."

Lauren's mouth opened, but he had no wish to hear anything she might say. Striding out of the house, he headed straight for his skimmer while she struggled to keep pace.

"No," she pleaded. "Wait, I'll drive you!"

Spock came to a halt and turned on her. "I'll be damned if you drive me anywhere!"

"But if you take that skimmer," she reasoned, "Simon will _know_ it's you!"

"Isn't that what you want?" he asked her.

Lauren's face flushed. "I wasn't expecting them back until dinner. Now you can believe that or not, it's your choice—but meanwhile stop making a spectacle of yourself and get in the car."

Her words triggered an emotional response so intense that it nearly overpowered Spock. His hands clenched at his sides as he battled an urge to harm her. On Donari he had struck T'Beth when she defied him. Now a disciplined corner of his mind wondered if what T'Beth had later implied was true—that without him realizing it, his nature had taken on some of the innate ferocity of a Donari. Yet he could not blame his behavior entirely on the influx of foreign genes; from his earliest years he had tended toward violence when provoked.

Not realizing her danger, Lauren showed exasperation. "Spock… _please."_

Spock controlled his rage and got into the car. Neither of them spoke. By the time they reached McCoy's neighborhood, he was willing to consider the possibility that Lauren might actually be telling the truth.

At last he broke the silence. "Then if it was not you, it was T'Beth. You must have told her I would be there."

Lauren slapped the steering wheel with her palm. "No! I didn't tell her. I didn't tell anyone. What's the matter with you? It was just an accident, that's all!"

Tears welled in her eyes. Dashing them away, she pulled into McCoy's driveway and left the car running. As Spock gazed at her with lingering doubt, she said, "You wanted to make love to me…didn't you?"

Spock moved so that the cowl hid his face from view. There was no telling what might have happened between them when anger and suspicion overtook him so easily. Quietly he said, "It would likely have been a mistake."

Lauren's voice quavered with emotion. "That is one of the cruelest things you've ever said to me."

Taken aback, Spock pushed his hood away and looked at her. Lauren's face was wet with tears. "What I meant," he said sincerely, "is that I cannot trust my emotional or physical responses. In the past, you experienced my…underlying volatility. Due to the Donari's genetic manipulation, it has…become markedly worse."

Lauren crossed her arms on the steering wheel and lay down her head. The strain of the past months showed clearly, making her appear disheartened and vulnerable. Responding, Spock reached out and gently touched her damp cheek with the back of his fingers. As their thoughts strained toward one another, she gave him a wan smile.

"Tell me one thing," she said softly. "Do you still love me?"

The answer spilled from his hand.

Her eyes grew bright and her head lifted. "Then come back with me. Come home. Before you left on the mission, you _promised_ you'd come home."

For a moment the intensity of her need drove all else from Spock's mind. Then he remembered what he had become—but even that no longer seemed as important as Lauren's happiness. Could it be that she was right about Simon, as well? Would he come to accept a mutant for his father? That was not the sort of gift Spock had in mind when he promised to bring his son something unusual from Space.

"I love you," Lauren whispered, although the words were quite unnecessary. "No matter what, you're still my husband and I want you with me—now."

Spock looked out at the house that had been both haven and prison since his return to Earth. He was grateful to Doctor McCoy for sheltering him, but he could not very well live out his life here, waiting for a cure that might never come. The place had served its purpose and it was time to move on.

He said, "I have not forgotten any of my promises. Not a day goes by that I do not also wish that we were together. Perhaps, after all, a way can be found—but first there is one last thing I must do."

oooo

McCoy could not believe his ears. "You want to do _what?"_ he fairly shouted at Spock over dinner.

The Vulcan had brought a Padd to the table and was rudely indulging his obsession with the news. Now he lifted his eyes from the little screen. "Doctor," he said in a typically annoying, superior tone, "I assure you there is nothing wrong with _my_ hearing. I will repeat it for you. I have requested permission to speak at the Sy-Don Peace Summit."

"Speak?" McCoy echoed. "About what? How the Donaris tried to turn you into one of them? That ought to make a good impression on the Sydoks _and_ your father. Hell, Sarek doesn't even know what's happened to you. Show up at the Summit and he's liable to have a heart attack!"

Spock's brow rose fractionally above his steady orange eyes. "I thought you corrected my father's heart condition years ago. Are you telling me that your surgery was inadequate?"

McCoy's temper heated. "Why, you pointy-eared, green-blooded son of a…"

"Donari?" Spock offered mildly.

McCoy huffed in frustration. "Spock, have you really considered what will happen if you go there? Not only in the political arena, but with the news reporters. I've worked hard to keep them away from you—and now you're going to hand yourself over to that bunch, wrapped up in a bow."

Spock frowned slightly and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't say it!" McCoy cut in. "Forget the bow!"

Spock glanced back to his Padd, where even McCoy's attention was drawn to the latest anti-Donari rhetoric of Jondar Jo-Ree. There was something about the shaggy-haired Sy that made him hard to resist.

"He is very charismatic," Spock commented quietly.

"He's an old fool," McCoy grumbled, "and as for you, I _am_ still your doctor and can therefore forbid any traveling in your condition."

Spock coolly steepled his taloned fingers. "Starfleet Command deems it a better solution for you to travel with me to the Summit, as I have suggested to them."

"Oh," McCoy said tartly. He felt a major headache coming on. "How thoughtful of you to make all the arrangements."

Spock actually shrugged. "I had not realized you would oppose the idea. After all, you have been telling me that I should start getting out."

"Not to the darling hotspot of intergalactic news!"

 _"Intra_ galactic," Spock corrected with maddening calm. "Really, Doctor, as long as I feel sufficiently fit, I hardly see why you should object."

Pushed to the limit, McCoy snatched Spock's Padd, shut it down, and exchanged it for the dinner platter. "Here, eat a pork chop—it'll do you more good than that confounded News Net."

Spock eyed the braised meat with all-too-apparent yearning.

McCoy had to feel sorry for him. "Look Spock, I'm serious about your father. Seeing you like this is bound to be a tremendous shock."

Spock shoved the tempting platter out of reach. "I will deal with that situation when it arises. Even you must realize, Doctor, that there are more important issues at stake here."

McCoy knew an insult when he heard one. Retaliation came as natural as breathing. "Spoken like the Spock of old. To hell with family when there are 'more important issues' at stake. God help you, I sometimes wonder if T'Lar put that katra of yours in backwards."

His eyes on McCoy, Spock leaned back and said, "As I see it, the Sy-Don Peace Initiative _is_ a family matter."

McCoy knew when he was defeated. Swearing softly under his breath, he speared the last pork chop and reached for his knife.

oooo

T'Beth sat cross-legged on the floor of the Fell Street Temple, her eyes closed, her heart hopelessly mired in conflict. There was a time when she walked in the light; now she prayed for courage to struggle on in the darkness.

Plaintive bells softly chimed in another area of the temple. Soft footsteps padded in the distance. Then someone was walking closer and closer before settling nearby. _One of the monks?_

Opening her eyes, she found a hooded figure seated like her. From the recesses of the hood came a telling glint of orange.

"Father!" she gasped. It had been weeks since she had seen him, but Lauren said he never left McCoy's house except for medical treatment.

As he pushed the cowl off his head, his serpentine skin gleamed eerily. He spoke without any preliminaries—as if nothing had ever been wrong between them. "Do you remember the promise I made to you when you were fourteen?"

She had no idea what he was talking about, or what possible bearing some ten-year-old promise might have on their present relationship. Then it struck her. When she was fourteen he had promised her a visit to the colony world of her early childhood, the world where he had met her mother, the world where Adrianna lay buried beside _her_ own mother. T'Beth vividly recalled her Grandmother Justrelle's funeral, and the man who forced her to attend, to see for herself that he was telling the truth—that her much-loved "Mama" had really died, leaving her in his cold keeping. How she had despised that unsmiling Starfleet captain named Spock.

T'Beth rose. "If you're talking about Ildarani, we tried that…remember? We only got as far as the Klingon Empire."

"Well," he said, "I am going there again, and I want you to accompany me."

 _Ildarani?_ It made no sense at all. "Why now? Why, after all these years?"

Spock got to his feet and moved nearer. In a confidential tone, he said, "It is not yet widely known, but Ildarani has been chosen as the site for the Sy-Don Peace Summit. The debates begin Monday, and I plan to be there before the first round of voting."

Shaken, T'Beth looked out over the shadowy expanse of the temple. So that was it—the Summit was being held on her home world. McCoy had warned her that Spock was set on going, on actually getting up before the audience and speaking—live news link, galaxy wide. Just envisioning it made her a little sick.

Turning back to him, she blurted, "No! No, Father, you can't! Old man Jo-Ree will take one look at you and cry 'atrocity'. I hear he has a whole parade of halfbreeds and mutants lined up for the show."

Somehow that had not come out right.

Father was deathly still. "I have been called 'halfbreed' and worse before, but I have never let bigotry stop me from doing what is right—and I do not intend to let it stop me now. The purpose of our Donari mission was to aid in the establishment of peace, and until that goal is fully realized, I am bound by conscience to promote it any way I can. I'm sorry if your conscience does not agree, but I am going to Ildarani to speak on behalf of the Donari People."

His words made T'Beth want to squirm, and she did not like it one bit. "You're trying to make me feel guilty, aren't you? Well, I can't feel any guiltier than I already do. Go ahead if you feel that you must, but forget about taking me."

His steady, expectant gaze would not leave her alone. Okay, maybe she owed him this. Maybe she owed it to the People, too. And maybe, just maybe, she owed it to herself.

Father pulled up his hood and began to leave.

"Wait," she called out.

He stopped and faced her, his features lost in the shaded depths of the hood.

"Alright," she said, "I'll go. But don't expect _me_ to get up there and talk."

He inclined his head in the Vulcan manner of acknowledgement, and as he turned once more to leave, she had the distinct feeling that his cowl hid a little smirk of triumph.

oooo

Lauren turned from the roiling surf and studied her husband's face as he stood beside her on the porch, watching the ocean. She had grown more used to his new appearance and even found a certain beauty in the way light shimmered over his scales.

"You've missed this place," she said, "haven't you?"

"I have," he admitted.

She took hold of his warm, sleekly textured hand. She wanted so much more than he had been willing to give her since his return. She wanted to feel him truly close and journey with him across the painful boundaries that held them apart—mentally, emotionally, physically. They were husband and wife, and she desperately needed him to confirm that fact before he left for Ildarani.

Wordlessly she led him into the beach house and locked the door. The sun passing through the filmy curtains cast a soft glow over the living room. There was only one reason why she had brought him here, and by now even Spock knew it was not about the ocean. After all, this is where he had brought _her_ before the ill-fated mission. This place had always been their retreat, the private world into which they could escape and take pleasure only in one another. Today, more than ever, they needed that privacy.

Lauren's heart began to pound. It was hard taking this kind of risk, laying herself wide open to rejection. Gathering her courage, she looked into his burnt orange eyes and let her hand drift over his neck. Softly she said, "Spock…I'm not counting on those treatments they've been giving you. This is the way you are, and I accept that. I want to experience everything you've become."

He was silent.

"On Simon's birthday, in the nursery…I could feel you wanting me. I've been wanting you, too. Spock…I'm your wife."

He averted his face. "You do not know what you are asking."

"Don't I? I'm asking you to open yourself, like I am. To reach out and take a chance."

He sighed. "It would be different."

"I realize that. But aren't scientists intrigued by change? Why not explore it?"

He looked upon her and his mouth quirked with a wry hint of amusement. "Change… _can_ be beneficial. My mutation might actually prove to be an asset if it helps sway the Sy-Don Summit toward peace. It is like an old Chinese story told to me by T'Beth's friend, Yong Po. Misfortune can come out of good, and good can come out of misfortune. One never knows."

"You have high hopes for the Summit," Lauren said.

Spock tilted his head and regarded her warmly. "Do you have one of your 'feelings' as to its outcome?"

"Only a wish—that you aren't disappointed by what you find there."

The warmth in his eyes deepened perceptibly. "I, too, have a wish—that you are not disappointed in me."

Lauren smiled as a revealing blush appeared at the base of his throat. She had read about Donari sexuality. If things continued to progress, his breathing would soon quicken. Reaching up, she pulled him into a deep kiss, and as his arms closed around her, she knew they were on their way.


	8. A Time for Peace

**8) A Time for Peace**

Spock sat between T'Beth and Doctor McCoy in a sequestered balcony of the richly appointed Ildaran assembly chamber. The participants of the Summit—both political speakers and reporters—were far too occupied with their own business to look upward and notice him. Even so, he wore a dark, hooded cloak over inconspicuous clothing.

As it turned out, T'Beth had received orders from Starfleet, putting her unique Donari skills to use here as a cultural advisor. The conference was in its fifth day and emotions were running high. This morning Sarek had spoken on the similarities between Donari's present development and certain aspects of Vulcan's history. Jondar Jo-Ree countered by adamantly declaring his distrust of his ancient enemies.

"There are no righteous Donaris," Jo-Ree's deep voice had rung out, whereupon more victims of K-Kotle's atrocities added their searing testimonies to the growing weight of anti-Donari sentiment.

A representative of the Donari People now rose to express its heartfelt regret over K-Kotle's inhumane programs. As an additional sign of their good intentions, they were initiating an educational program designed to reshape the old warrior mentality.

Jo-Ree reclaimed the floor. On behalf of Sydok's Prince Ba-Rokesh, he demanded that K-Kotle and other tribal leaders be extradited to Sydok and stand trial for war crimes. He went on to demand a staggering series of political and monetary reprisals against the Donari People.

Spock heard T'Beth fuming under her breath. There were facts about Jo-Ree that Spock had kept to himself, but perhaps the time had come to share the results of his investigation with his daughter. Leaning her way, he spoke quietly. "You might be interested to know that Jo-Ree was a prisoner of the Donari at the same time as your grandmother Justrelle. In fact, they were captured in the very same raid."

T'Beth's eyebrows climbed and she looked down at the silver-haired Sydok with fresh interest. There was something more Spock would have liked to tell her, but it would have to wait until he was absolutely certain of his facts.

At the podium, Jo-Ree raised his voice and called for a vote on the first round of punitive Sy proposals, most of which were outrageous, yet seemed to have the overwhelming support of the other Sydoks present. The bitterness of centuries was making itself shown here today.

Far below, Spock saw his father shaking his head sadly.

It was time.

Spock took a moment to prepare himself. His thoughts did not go at once to his speech. Instead, he thought of his wife and how much more difficult this hour would have been without Lauren's unwavering devotion. No matter what happened here today—even if he was destined to retain this strange appearance always—he could carry on with his life knowing she would remain at his side.

Abruptly he stood. T'Beth and McCoy started to rise with him, but Spock motioned them back into their seats. Alone, he wended his way down the back halls and stairwells leading to the assembly room floor. His skin itched under the concealment of his hood. He did his best to ignore it. Then he emerged onto the central speaking area and there was no time to consider anything beyond the stir he was about to create.

As prearranged, the Chief Donari Envoy clicked into a translator, asking Jo-Ree to yield the floor.

Spock looked out at Jondar Jo-Ree from the concealing depths of his hood. The Sydok was taller than him and powerfully built, with penetrating amber eyes.

"Identity yourself!" Jo-Ree demanded in a booming voice.

It seemed that the Sy leader had no intention of yielding. Defying procedures, Spock walked past the podium, to the very center of the forum. Seats rose on three sides, filled to capacity with the various Federation races that had a stake in these proceedings. Cameras swung into position, seeking a glimpse of the mysterious face hidden by Spock's hood. Voices rose in loud speculation and armed security guards came into view. Somewhere, a gavel pounded. Amid the commotion, Spock looked out at his father and for an instant his resolve faltered.

Then he drew back his hood.

He had gotten his hair cut for this occasion so that his Vulcanoid ears and eyebrows could be plainly seen. Once more he glanced at his father. The lack of recognition on Sarek's face pained him. Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to the assembly.

From above, T'Beth watched with pounding heart as her father revealed his features to the assembly and to the billions more watching the live, galaxy-wide broadcast. Just then someone dropped into the chair her father had vacated, jostling her elbow in the process. Annoyed, she glanced over at the person.

Captain Kirk gazed back at her.

"Jim!" The name caught in her throat. What was he doing on Ildarani? Wasn't the Enterprise out on patrol?

"Well, I'll be…" McCoy said by way of greeting.

"Engine trouble," Kirk said innocently. "Seemed as good a place as any to lay over for a couple of days. Besides," he added in a stage whisper, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Below them, Spock's voice rang out, and they turned their attention downward.

"Greetings, friends and delegates," he began. "My name is Spock and I am an officer in the Federation Starfleet. Those of you who do not know me will find it difficult to believe that I am of Vulcan-human extraction."

A Sydok shouted at him, "I know of Spock, and you are an imposter! Spock's father is here among us. Do you think you can deceive Ambassador Sarek?"

There were murmurs of shock and outrage. As Sarek rose and slowly approached the man who claimed to be his son, even Jo-Ree backed from the scene and watched. Sarek stopped three paces from Spock, and seeing the confirmation of his fears, pronounced in a shaken voice, "It is he."

Turning silently, he made his way back to his seat. From T'Beth's position in the balcony, Sarek's face looked almost as gray as his son's.

The vocal Sydok cried, "What kind of trickery is this?"

"Donari trickery!" Spock loudly replied. "Can it be that you do not recognize their handiwork? Not long ago my daughter and I were captured and enslaved by K-Kotle's forces. What you see before you is the direct result of genetic manipulation carried out against my will." He raised his scaly hands, spreading the taloned fingers for display. "Yes, look at me. Look closely. What you see before you today is a criminal affront against life and liberty!"

A roar of support rose from the Sy contingent.

Beside T'Beth, Kirk leaned forward and gripped the balcony rail. "What the hell is he doing? Has he lost his mind?"

Spock raised his voice above the din. "I stand before you today, a victim of Donari arrogance and barbarism…"

The jubilant shouts of the Sydoks drowned out Spock's words. Jondar Jo-Ree smiled complacently and nodded. Across the hall, Sarek's face was hard as granite. His dark eyes flamed at his son, and though Spock did not look at him, T'Beth knew her father was fully aware of Sarek's displeasure. She could only hope that her grandfather could restrain himself from dragging Spock out of the chamber.

"Arrogance," Father repeated, "and barbarism—yet I submit to you that today there is cause for celebration." The commotion died down and he spoke into the silence. "Yes, celebration—for the hopeful spirit of peace that is now dawning in the hearts of the Donari People."

Kirk rose up open-mouthed and stared down at the scene below. T'Beth caught McCoy's eye and they exchanged a grin. Who would have thought Spock could put on this kind of show?

"I know the People well," he continued. "I have lived among them. I have shared in their way of life and found it to be sound."

"Outrage!" Jondar Jo-Ree leapt forward, fist raised in angry protest. "His body has been altered and so has his mind! The Donaris have brainwashed Ambassador Sarek's son!"

Spock faced him calmly. "My medical records have been entered into the conference database where everyone can view them. They will show that my mind is unaltered."

"Then the records are false!" Jo-Ree countered. "It is becoming more and more obvious that Starfleet and the Federation are allying themselves with Donari. You, Spock, admit to being on their planet—no doubt scheming and cementing your political ties with the new government. I say that _they_ are the ones who worked this abhorrent change. You have become a freakish puppet of the Donari People."

Now the Donaris grew agitated and rose to their feet, clicking in protest.

Pointing at Spock, Jo-Ree shouted above the noise, "I will not hear any more of your Donari lies! Step down, I say! Yield the floor!"

Spock stood motionless, his attention riveted on his opponent. It had come down to a war of wills.

"Sir," Spock address him respectfully, "I submit that you have personal grievances against the Donaris that are affecting your judgment in this matter." The words caused such an uproar that he spoke louder. "I doubt that there is a single Sy family left untouched by the centuries of conflict between your warring worlds. Your great ancestors pleaded eloquently for the cause of peace. Now it seems that with the passage of time, your noble dream of harmony has given way to bitter dreams of revenge."

Jo-Ree's amber eyes smoldered like embers. "Guards, remove him! Remove him at once or I shall leave here and never come back!"

The Ildaran security seemed uncertain how to proceed. A gavel was pounded vigorously by the human female acting as moderator, and the hubbub subsided. She sternly addressed Jo-Ree. "I must ask the esteemed representative of Sydok to restrain his outbursts." Then her rapier gaze settled on Spock. "And you, sir, are out of order."

"One word more," Spock requested.

"Denied."

Jo-Ree looked triumphant.

"Then I yield," Spock said, directly speaking to Jo-Ree. "I yield to you with one final appeal. Let go of the past. Look to the future. Embrace with open arms the gift of peace that has been offered to you…and to your children."

The Sydok's face was a mask of bitterness. "I no longer have any children. The Donari took them—took them all."

T'Beth looked on with a sinking feeling. What could her father possibly say to that? Suddenly Spock glanced up at the balcony and his eyes found her seated between Kirk and McCoy. Then he focused once more on Jo-Ree.

"Perhaps not all," he said, "perhaps not quite all."

With that mysterious pronouncement Spock yielded the floor and was soundly hailed by the Donari People as he left the hall.

oooo

Spock drew up his hood, and avoiding the reporters in the main lobby, took a circuitous route to the outdoors. Here in New Florida the day was bright and balmy—so reminiscent of Earth that he experienced a pang of longing for the family he had left behind. What had he accomplished by coming here? Jo-Ree's influence was critical to the voting, but it would seem that Spock's words had only moved him to anger.

In the parkland behind the assembly chamber, Spock found a bench and sat down. The itching on his upper body had worsened; he felt feverish and queasy. Bending over, he breathed the fresh air deeply, hoping to revive himself. If the symptoms did not ease soon, he would contact McCoy, who was probably looking for him.

He heard someone approaching with measured footsteps. It did not sound like the doctor, and when Vulcan shoes entered the periphery of Spock's vision, he was certain of it. Odd, how little details of fashion could be so telling. Spock could have named the manufacturer of Sarek's favorite footwear. With his emotions in disarray he straightened, pulled back his hood, and offered himself to his father's scrutiny.

"My son," Sarek spoke in a grieved tone.

Spock looked at the ambassador, so poised and dignified in his official robes—the quintessential Vulcan. In his youth Spock had wanted nothing more than to be like him, and knowing that he never could, had begun a lifelong search for his own identity. He had thought he had found it. Yet now, sitting here in his Donari skin, he felt naked and unsure. He could well imagine the course of Sarek's innermost thoughts. _For this you rebelled against me and joined Starfleet? Spock, what have you become?_

The silence between them stretched.

At last Spock said, "Tell Mother that I am undergoing treatments to reverse the process. In time, they may yet prove successful."

Sarek nodded. More and more they were talking to one another in this peculiar, circuitous manner. _Your mother says. Your mother wants. Please tell Mother._

Spock sometimes wondered what would happen when Amanda was no longer living. Would he and his father succumb to the awkwardness between them and cease communicating altogether?

Sarek turned his head aside and watched the tree branches sway in the afternoon breeze. He sighed—a sound reserved for the more frustrating moments of his life, many of which seemed to involve Spock. Tiredly he said, "Jo-Ree is now calling for Sydok to withdraw from the Federation."

An especially vulgar expletive sprang into Spock's mind, and if not for his father, he might have uttered it aloud and with deep feeling. The impulse may or may not have originated from his Donari genes. He had been known to curse before. And now, in the face of utter failure, it somehow seemed appropriate.

"My speech only made matters worse," he said in defeat. "I offered an emotional appeal when their passions were already running deep. I should have relied solely on logic."

Sarek looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "It is true that your method was somewhat…theatric…but it was well-suited to the mentality of your audience. Do not abandon hope. If Jo-Ree continues on his radical course, he could alienate the moderates among his party." He paused, his expression unreadable. "There is an old Earth adage I learned from your mother. 'Give a man enough rope and he will hang himself'."

Spock was too preoccupied by his growing physical discomfort to appreciate his father's words. The maddening itch had now spread over his entire body, and now there was pain as well. He could no longer ignore the fact that something was seriously wrong.

Rising, he brought his wrist phone to his mouth and called for Doctor McCoy. Then he tried, without success, to take a step. As he collapsed he felt his father's strong hands catch hold and lower him gently to the ground.

"Spock," Sarek said urgently.

The day had grown painfully bright. A passing breeze produced a shiver that seemed to spasm every muscle in his body.

"Spock."

His father's voice roused him and he briefly opened his eyes. Dark, swirling clouds played over Sarek's concerned features. Spock was vaguely aware of his talons digging at the tormenting itch around his neck. With an effort, he raised the mutated hand and stared at it. Once more the breeze rose, blowing a drift of silvery particles from his fingers.

 _Fascinating,_ came the thought. And then his mind followed the silvery drift into oblivion.

oooo

It was a somber group that gathered in the Enterprise sickbay. There were not enough chairs in the office for everyone, so they stood—Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, and Doctor Chapel who T'Beth knew from childhood visits to the ship. Also close by, T'Beth's grandfather Sarek awaited word of his son.

McCoy's report on Spock's condition was brief. T'Beth was relieved to learn that her father's coma-like state was the result of a Vulcan healing trance. An inner reordering of his genetic blueprint was causing his scales to shed. Either the medical treatments were having an effect, or Spock's body had at last found some way to throw off the alien material on its own.

She asked, "Will he…get all the way back to normal?"

"At this point," McCoy gently answered, "I'm afraid there's no way to tell. We just have to take it one day at a time."

The desktop intercom sounded, informing Kirk of an incoming transmission from Ildarani. Kirk rested a hand on the desk and leaned toward the small screen.

"Captain," the communications officer said very carefully, "it's Jondar Jo-Ree."

Uhura's knowing tone did not surprise T'Beth. She knew enough about starship life to understand how things worked. Most everyone onboard would have been monitoring the live broadcast of the Peace Summit. News of Spock's physical mutation—and verbal duel with Jo-Ree—would have spread like wildfire. By now, everyone would also know that Spock had been beamed aboard, unconscious. They would all be drawing their own conclusions as to the part Jo-Ree's tirade had played in Spock's sudden collapse.

Kirk wiped the distaste for the Sy leader from his face. "Alright, Uhura. Channel the call here."

As Jo-Ree's image appeared on the com screen, everyone—even Sarek—moved into a position to view him.

"Captain Kirk here."

Jo-Ree's amber eyes narrowed. "I understand that Spock has been taken aboard your vessel."

"Correct," Kirk said levelly.

"He is a liar and I demand to come aboard and confront him."

McCoy muttered, "Who the hell does he think he is?"

T'Beth sank her teeth into her lip as she awaited the captain's response.

Despite a flicker of anger, he somehow remained cool and courteous. "I'm afraid, sir, that is out of the question. Captain Spock has fallen ill. He's unable to speak to anyone."

Jo-Ree regarded Kirk with open suspicion. "Is that so? He seemed well enough at the conference. What is wrong with him?"

"In the Federation, medical information is confidential. Have you forgotten?"

"You're hiding him!" the Sydok accused.

McCoy stepped forward. "Now listen here…"

Kirk abruptly motioned the doctor into silence and addressed Jo-Ree. "Spock has no reason to hide from anyone."

"Then," Jo-Ree boomed, "let me come aboard your ship and see him for myself!"

T'Beth felt a sudden stirring of inspiration and tapped Kirk's arm, but when they turned from the directional microphone she found herself hesitating. What made her think Jim would accept any input from her? But in this particular situation, she was uniquely qualified.

"Captain," she said, "as a cultural adviser, I suggest that you let him come aboard. I'm part Sy, and I could talk to him about my time among the Donari People. There's a chance that…with just the two of us…he might actually listen."

Kirk looked at Sarek for his opinion.

"Her idea may have some merit," the ambassador said, swelling T'Beth's heart with pride.

McCoy met Kirk's eyes and shrugged. "As long as he keeps his big mouth shut around Spock."

T'Beth held her breath as the captain gave her his full attention. "Alright," he said, "but he'll be yours from start to finish. That means I'm holding you personally responsible for his conduct aboard this ship. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," she said, wondering what she had just gotten herself into.

An hour later she was standing at her father's bedside in a sweat of nervousness while Jondar Jo-Ree took in every distressing detail of Spock's physical appearance. There had been no choice but to bring him here, right at the outset, so he could see the truth for himself.

Jo-Ree studied the medical monitor above the bed before looking back at the exposed areas of Spock's skin. Entire patches of scales had sloughed off. Greenish blood seeped from the rawest places, making her father look particularly ghastly.

T'Beth had already explained to Jo-Ree about the nature of the Vulcan healing trance, and asked for complete silence here. To her relief, he respected it. The demanding Sydok had gotten his visit; now she wanted him out of there. Kissing Spock on his bangs, she turned to leave.

Jo-Ree looked startled and spoke his mind as soon as they were out of the room. "You display that kind of affection for a commanding officer?"

"He's my father," she said, and left it at that.

It was not until they arrived in the officer's lounge, and T'Beth settled them with some pondoh tea near a view pane, that she began to relax a little and take stock of her imposing charge close-up. Jondar Jo-Ree was decades older than her father, taller, and much more massively built. Though Sydoks did not live much beyond 110, the broad chest beneath those biblical Sy robes gave an impression of great strength. T'Beth found his watchful amber eyes intriguing, and as she sat across from him sipping tea, she soon realized that he was also studying her.

T'Beth's grip tightened on her Enterprise mug. "You may be interested to know that I'm partly Sy."

Jo-Ree's eyes widened and he leaned toward her. "Your father—Spock—wed a Sydok woman?"

She saw no need to disclose the fleeting nature of her parents' relationship; it was an awkward subject. "My mother was one half Sy. Her name was Adrianna, and she was the product of the Donari breeding program."

Jo-Ree's lips parted, but no sound came out.

"So you see," T'Beth said quietly, "my family also has ample cause to resent the Donari—yet my own personal experiences with the People have revealed something very different to me, something quite wonderful. I'd like to share it with you."

"So it begins." Lifting his mug, Jo-Ree took a swallow, then beheld her with a pleasant, though condescending smile. "My dear girl, up until now I have found your company agreeable, but if you think you can…" His voice broke off as she set her tea on a side table, bent over, and pulled off her Starfleet boots.

She rolled up her pants to expose the scarring on her legs. "There's quite an interesting story behind this—and if you have the time, I'd like to tell you."

"The Donari?" he guessed.

T'Beth nodded. Okay, she had captured his interest, but how easy it would be to say the wrong thing now and lose him again, perhaps permanently. Taking a deep breath, she began her story. She told him of the youthful rebellion that sent her to the Border Patrol when she turned eighteen, and how her career as a fighter pilot was cut short when she crashed in the Donari desert. Her emotions rose near the surface as she relived her first, frightening days among the alien cave dwellers who retrieved her broken body.

"They did not even provide proper treatment for your injuries," Jo-Ree said in disgust. "You were very fortunate to survive."

"They did their best," she explained. "Medical supplies, like all the necessities, were scarce in the underground. Yet I wouldn't call the People poor." And she asked, "Are you a religious man?"

"In my own way," he replied.

Heartened, she described the kindness extended to her by her enemies in spite of the revulsion she had shown for them. Her voice grew hushed as she spoke of the prayers offered for her at the Sacred Grotto, and her instantaneous healing. The memory of that wondrous event returned full-force, casting all the darkness and doubt from her soul.

Overcome with emotion, she took a moment to add, "You might not believe me—at first my own father didn't." She smiled a little. "Vulcans are very big on truth, you know. I don't think he appreciated you calling him a liar."

Jo-Ree looked as if he might label her a liar, too. "If, as you say, Donaris rescued you, then they had every opportunity to manipulate your memories. It seems that you _are_ well-intentioned, but I'm afraid both you and your father are deluding yourselves. I tell you, Donaris cannot be trusted. I am no longer sure if even the Federation can be trusted."

"And I tell you they can," T'Beth calmly asserted. "The People who have risen up and overthrown K-Kotle want nothing from you but peace. As for the Federation—"

Jo-Ree's hand gave an impatient wave. "Please, I did not come aboard the Enterprise to argue politics with a child."

T'Beth's heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. Had she come this far only to lose him now? She decided to take the conversation in a new, bold direction. "Alright then. We'll talk about something else. Father told me you were captured in the same Donari raid as my grandmother."

Jo-Ree's face lost all expression. Rising, he went to the observation port and gazed out at the orbital view of Ildarani.

"Those memories must be very painful," she said to his back.

It had not been her intention to upset him; she had only hoped to uncover some information about the Sy branch of her family. What was it about the man—a great bear, a great Santa Claus of a fellow—that made her want to reach out give him a hug? This was Jondar Jo-Ree—the same bigoted politician who had deliberately insulted her father at the Peace Summit.

His voice came to her in the stillness. "What was your grandmother's name?"

"Justrelle. Justrelle Lemoine." _At least he was still talking to her. Why push this any further?_ But something urged her to do just that—to press on, now, at this very moment. "Can it be," she dared to ask, "that you knew of her?"

His eyes remained fixed on the view of Space.

She said, "And there was a Sy captive named Jori. He was the mate given to her by the Donaris. He'd be my grandfather."

Beneath the robes, his shoulders stiffened. The light of Ildarani's star crested the planet, setting fire to the silver in his hair and beard. The sight brought back a sharp memory to T'Beth, and she went to his side. Once, years ago, she had stood like this with her father on the observation deck. She had only been a child then, but the aerial view of her home world was just as splendid as she remembered. She could still feel the warming touch of her father's hand, the first stirrings of affection for the man she had come aboard hating.

Tearing her eyes from the view, she looked at Jo-Ree. He was still staring out there, white to the lips.

"What is it?" she whispered. _What did he see?_ Impulsively she touched his arm and told him, "I'm sorry. I should never have brought up those terrible times."

Slowly he rose from his thoughts and beheld her with tear-dampened eyes. "I believe," he said softly, "that I now know what your father meant."

Hope stirred in T'Beth's heart. "About the Donaris?"

Jo-Ree waved her query aside. "Lieutenant Lemoine, may I ask your given name?"

She wondered at the strange question. "Cristabeth—although my family and friends call me by a Vulcan derivative."

"Cris Ta-Beth," he repeated in the Sy manner. "Don't you see? Not Jori, but Jo-Ree. I am the Sydok captive who was mated to the human Justrelle. Cris Ta-Beth, I am your grandfather."

oooo

A stand of Treeple grew almost to the edge of New Florida's cemetery. T'Beth lay on her back in the soft green grass, gazing toward the graceful outline of their branches. The rich blue of the Ildaran sky was unlike any she had ever seen on Earth. It made her feel like a small child again, oblivious to everything but the beauty of the afternoon and the simple joy of being alive. Had there ever been a more perfect day?

Jondar Jo-Ree—her _grandfather_ —had reconsidered his stance on Donari and influenced his fellow Sydoks to turn from the radical position which many were already questioning. Under his leadership today's final voting had brought a veritable landslide in favor of peace. The hopeful seed planted by the People's revolution could now grow in an atmosphere free of intemperate reprisals. The Donari mission had taken many difficult, unexpected turns, but in the end it had proven successful. T'Beth felt a renewed faith in God's unfolding purpose for her life.

She heard voices. Rising to her feet, she saw Spock making his way to their prearranged rendezvous. Beside him walked Jo-Ree, two floral wreaths held in his great arms. T'Beth's happiness at seeing the two men together clouded as she joined them at the gravesite. When she last stood at this place of death, she was only eleven. Now Father looked at her in solemn acknowledgement of that memory. His eyes had returned to their normal shade of brown. It was a relief to see his skin free of scales and nearly healed, and his nails thinning. Soon there would be no physical trace left of the ordeal that threatened to tear their family apart.

T'Beth turned to her grandfather. For Jo-Ree, it was the first time here. His sad eyes studied the polished headstones that had been freshly set in the manicured lawn.

 _Justrelle Dubois Lemoine_ —a fiercely protective woman capable of great tenderness—the grandmother who nurtured T'Beth in her early years—the woman widowed by Donari raiders and forced by them to mate with an alien captive named Jo-Ree.

 _Adrianna Lemoine—_ the young, fair-haired mother T'Beth came to know in the pages of an old diary. Half Sy, beautiful and mysterious—like T'Beth, a born breaker of male hearts. Sometimes it seemed to T'Beth that she could remember the feeling of her mother's arms around her, though of course that was impossible. It was really her grandmother that she was remembering. The markers swam before her eyes.

Jo-Ree spoke in a voice heavy with emotion. "I wept and cursed the Donari even as their drugs forced my compliance. But here is a daughter born of that traumatic union." His eyes rose to T'Beth. "And then you—my own dear grandchild. How very strange life is."

T'Beth blinked the tears away. _Damn._ She had sworn that she would not embarrass herself by breaking down in front of the others. She would do what she had come to do, rock-steady as a Vulcan.

She watched Jo-Ree lean down and place a wreath on each grave. Taking a deep breath, she recited, "'For everything there is a season…and a time for every matter under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to keep silent, and a time to speak…' " The words choked off. Her body trembled with the effort at control. Beside her, Father moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder.

"A time for war," he finished for her, "and a time for peace."

There was a moment of such stillness that T'Beth heard the breeze sweeping along the grassy slope. What more could be added to the ancient verses? Wiping her eyes, she gave the graves one last look, then turned and walked between her father and grandfather toward town. She had received permission from Starfleet to return with Jo-Ree to the Federation Embassy on Sydok, where she would continue her role as a cultural liaison between his world and that of the new Donari order. As exciting opportunity, but she was going to miss her father, and the rest of her family and friends on Earth. It seemed so strange. In her childhood years, Spock had always been the one leaving. Now, just when they were growing closer again, here she was leaving him.

"I'll send off a compacket every week," she promised when they reached the crossroads. "Of course, the Sy don't have weeks, but I'll keep track. And I expect to get coms back from you, too. I want something from everyone—even the twins."

"From the twins," Father mused. "And what would you suggest they contribute? Burps?"

She took in Spock's bland expression and had to smile. "It amazes me, the way you can look so innocent when you do that."

Predictably his eyebrow rose. "Do what?"

T'Beth gave him a goodbye hug, for he was heading out to the treeclan. After the two men exchanged farewells, she walked toward the spaceport with her grandfather.

After a time Jo-Ree said, "It is very odd seeing a Vulcan with a sense of humor."

"My father's only half Vulcan," she reminded, "and those human genes are clearly back in play."

"Yes, it shows."

T'Beth pulled up short. "Grandfather….it might be a good idea if you never tell him that."

"Oh?" His warm eyes questioned her. Then, with a perceptive smile, "I understand. He _does_ fancy himself a Vulcan, doesn't he?"

She thought of the insults Jo-Ree had publicly hurled against her father. _Liar, puppet, fraud._ Maybe it was not so terrible to be called human. Turning, she spied Spock's uniform against the green edge of the treeclan. She waved…and it seemed that she heard his voice coming to her from across the distance. _"Journey safe…"_

oooo

There would be no other chance any time soon, and Kirk knew it. Even so, it had taken a ridiculous amount of courage to bring to bring himself down to Ildarani for this particular confrontation. _A battle?_ No. It would have been easier to take on an enemy than the slim powerhouse of a girl who was always complicating his life.

He waited just out of sight as T'Beth lingered at the crossroads with Jo-Ree and her father. He tried not to stare at them, or at least not very much, but still ended up seeing more of that private moment than he should have.

 _Jim, it's not too late to get out of here,_ he told himself more than once. Instead, he set out to intercept T'Beth and her grandfather on their way to the spaceport. He was stepping into her path when she turned and waved at her father. When she resumed her journey, he was there.

"Jim!" she blurted. Then her manner changed to one of military formality. "Captain. I beg your pardon, you startled me."

"Captain Kirk," Jo-Ree said ceremoniously.

Kirk nodded a greeting at the Sy leader. "Jo-Ree. I congratulate you on the new addition to your family."

Jo-Ree's amber eyes warmed as they settled on T'Beth. "I feel almost as if I am living a dream."

The whole thing seemed unreal to Kirk, too. Of all the unlikely people to be T'Beth's grandfather! But nothing about her had ever been ordinary.

"Sir," Kirk said, "if you don't mind, I'd like a few moments with the lieutenant before she leaves."

T'Beth's expression grew guarded, but she spoke to Jo-Ree. "You may as well go to your ship, Grandfather. I'll catch up soon."

Then they were alone on the path and Kirk's heart went into warp drive. Feeling as awkward as a teenager, he said, "I wanted to say goodbye…and wish you luck on your new assignment…and with Jo-Ree."

"Thank you," she replied. Half-turning, she gestured behind her. "My father will be along in a while, if you'd like to see him. He wanted to spend a little time among the Treeple before dark."

Kirk's stomach tightened. "I'm not finished. I never told you how impressed I was with the way you handled Jo-Ree aboard ship. Your influence changed the entire course of the Peace Summit."

She shrugged. "He would have sent me packing if I hadn't turned out to be his granddaughter."

"Moments like those can be disastrous if they aren't handled with sensitivity. No, Lieutenant, you did an outstanding job and I'm naming you for an official commendation."

The arch of her eyebrow rose. "Well, thank you. But believe me, my behavior during the Donari mission wasn't always so praiseworthy."

Kirk cleared his throat. "Captains have also been known to make mistakes. I want to…apologize…for the thoughtless, unfair remarks I made on the night you first came aboard ship. Since then, the secrecy has been lifted from your personnel file and I've had the opportunity to view it."

Her eyes narrowed. Obviously she did not care to have him poking around in her records. "Well," she said stiffly, "I'm not Academy trained. We'd already determined that."

"Some of the best officers I've met never set foot in Starfleet Academy—but that's not the point." He ignored the prideful inner voice that urged him to stop there. "The point is, I denied you the proper respect due an officer in Starfleet. I was all too ready to jump to unsavory conclusions. I should have known—I should have trusted—that there was more to the situation than met the eye."

She acknowledged his words with the slightest of smiles. "It was hard for me not to tell you the facts…but even harder keeping it from my father all those years."

"You never left the service."

"Never. Even Beijing University was a preparation for Donari. Not to mention all those covert schooling sessions in Intelligence, diplomacy, and regional issues."

Yes—Kirk had read it all. "I'm proud of you…as an officer…and as a friend."

She lowered her eyes, but not before he had seen tears filling them. "How very proper we've become, how very Starfleet. It just about breaks my heart."

She glanced up and the tender, pained look on her face drew him closer. Then he was embracing her and T'Beth's arms slipped around him. The sweet, sun-warmed silk of her hair pressed against his cheek. It felt so good and heaven help him, he wanted to kiss her.

A burst of laughter shattered the moment. Stepping away from T'Beth, he found a pair of Ildaran schoolgirls passing by, gawking at them and giggling behind their hands. It forcefully reminded him that T'Beth was not much older.

Sadly, T'Beth said, "I have to go now."

So this was goodbye.

"I'll miss you," she added.

Moved by the admission, confused by her as always, Kirk merely nodded. He did not turn and watch her walk away. For a long moment he stood staring at the fringes of the Ildaran treeclan, thinking about what had just happened. Then drawing a slow breath, he set his mind on the future and headed out to see the Treeple for himself.


End file.
